


My Head Cannot Bear this Crown

by zanzibaristhecaptain



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Dom/sub, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Farmer!Rick, Good Parent Rick Grimes, M/M, Murder, possessive!Negan, strawberry milk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2018-11-29 08:51:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11437389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanzibaristhecaptain/pseuds/zanzibaristhecaptain
Summary: Ever since Rick's first meeting with the new grocery store owner, Negan, began with "This your fucking kid?" he'd hated the man.But nothing really lasts forever, least of all for the Grimes family.





	1. Chapter 1

“Why don’t brown cows make chocolate milk?” 

“Because only dairy cows make milk, hun.” 

God, it was blistering out. Every time his hands swiped the top of the steering wheel, he felt the rubber burn his fingertips. It was his own fool fault. He was the one who left the truck out in the field for the better part of the morning, baking in the morning sun.  

“What do brown cows make?” 

They went over a pot hole in the road and Judith’s booster seat rattled in the back. She didn’t seem to mind, though Rick’s eyes instantly darted to the rear-view mirror to check on her. 

“You mean like the ones we have on the farm?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“Those aren’t dairy cows, Jud. They’re only for meat.” 

They’d gone over this a million times. But ever since she had started first grade, she had been rambling questions off to him left and right. ‘She’s inquisitive’ Judith’s teacher, a sweet woman named Beth, often told him. He really couldn’t agree more. 

“Why don’t we have any dairy cows?” 

They turned off the high way and onto the ramp that lead into town, littered with trash and pieces of random items. The city had never been too concerned with cleaning the streets. After all, it was a country town and it wasn’t like they were trying to impress anyone, least of all the people who lived there. 

“Because daddy doesn’t sell dairy cows.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I don’t like dairy cows.” 

“Why not?” 

Rick sighed. Usually he could keep up with this. Answering his only daughter’s questions had always rolled off his back. But not today, not with the reason they were coming into town so early in the afternoon. 

“Tell you what, why don’t we get some of Aunt May’s ice cream on the way back?” he suggested in hopes of changing her attention. 

“Really?!” 

It worked. 

Rick nodded, “I don’t see why not.” 

Judith beamed before suddenly stopping short. “Does Carl get some?” she asked quietly, picking at the seat cushions. 

Rick’s hand on the steering wheel tightened. “Yeah, hun. He’ll get some.” 

She returned to being blissfully ignorant. 

Summer wind drifted in through the rolled down windows, drowning out the hum of the truck as it petered its way through the streets. Whitefish wasn’t really known for having a lively city-center. Though all of the shops and business were open, you would have thought it was abandoned. It was exactly why Rick moved here. Peace and quiet was exactly what this family needed. 

‘Your family, or just you?’ Abraham had asked him when they announced they were moving. At the time, Rick had been put off by the question. Looking back at it now, he could see the point. Carl’s graduating class was going to be around thirty kids. That was a helluva lot less than his school in Georgia. He knew his son resented him for moving him smack in the middle of high school. 

Not that Rick had much of a choice… 

“Daddy! You missed the turn!” Judith suddenly cried, startling him enough to jerk the wheel of the truck. Luckily no one else was on the road. 

“Judith! You know not to yell like that when I’m drivin’!” he scolded her, making a U-turn. She picked at the seat cushion again. “Sorry.” came her mumbled apology. 

Rick hadn’t realized he was zoning out so much; lost in his own thoughts. 

It was happening more frequently and he hated the feeling. 

Pulling up outside the large brick building on Maple street, he rolled up the windows, clicked off his seat belt, and slid out of the cab. 

Judith kicked happily as he grabbed her out and placed her pick-clad feet onto the warm pavement. “Are you going to yell at him?” she asked as she reached up to hold onto his fingers. Rick swallowed. 

“No. But daddy’s still upset with him.”

She didn’t seem to like that but thankfully made no more comments on the issue. 

They crossed the sidewalk and made it up a flight of cement stairs before entering the lobby of the school. 

A man at the front desk frowned at them. “Can I help you, sir?” he asked. 

Rick cleared his throat. “Yes. I’m here to pick up my kid, Carl Grimes?” 

“He’s in speaking with Principle Chambler. You can wait over there.” he nodded towards a grouping of plastic chairs near the front windows. Rick gave a small smile before walking over and sitting. 

It was hot in the building. 

The ceiling fan was broken. 

“Can I play angry birds?” Judith asked, nudging his pocket. Her care for her older brother’s punishment apparently didn’t last beyond a few minutes. 

He could respect that. 

Digging into his Carhart, he pulled out the iPhone she was requesting and queued up the app, turning the sound to silent. 

The noise of little angry birds annoyed him too much. 

They didn’t have to wait that long. “Mr. Grimes?” a voice called and he looked up from where Judith was sitting on his lap. A woman with gentle smile was standing at the edge of the room. She had to be Principle Chambler. 

“Yes?” he stood quickly, letting Judith keep the phone. She walked over and offered a hand. “I’m Tara Chambler,” he was right, “it’s nice to finally meet you. And you,” she crouched to her knees, “must be the youngest Grimes I’ve heard so much about.” She offered a hand to Judith who hesitated. Rick nudged her with his knee, “Go on, don’t be shy.” he teased and finally the little girl shook Tara’s hand. 

“Would it be alright if I talked to you in private in my office? Carl can wait out here with his sister.” she said and Rick nodded. 

His palms felt sweaty. He was nervous for no apparent reason. 

“Great.” Tara’s smile widened (if that was even possible) and seconds later she was sending Carl out to the waiting room. 

His right eye was black. 

Rick sighed, “You alright?” he drawled, reaching out and pulling the kid’s long hair back to take a better look at it. Carl shrugged his shoulders, “You should see the other guy.” 

“I doubt that very much.” Rick groused. 

Leaving the two outside, Tara offered a chair across from her desk and shut the office door. It got even quieter. 

“Do you want anything? Tea? Coffee? Water?” 

Goddam it. If she was offering something to drink, that meant this was going to be a _long_ conversation. 

“I’m fine, thank you.” 

“Suite yourself.” she said, walking over and settling in her roll-around chair. 

There were a lot of awards and pictures on the navy wall. 

“So Carl tells me you used to be a Sheriff?” 

He hated small talk.  
“Sheriff’s Deputy.” he corrected her. 

“In Senioa, Georgia, right?” 

“That’s correct.” 

She smirked, “Your southern twang gives you away.” 

Gave him away? To what? Was he suppose to keep that a secret? 

Anyone could tell he was from the south the moment he opened his mouth. Though not extremely heavy, his words still lazily rolled off of his tongue. 

“What was the reason for your move?” 

Rick crossed his long legs, his foot moving in slow circles as it rested there. “Needed a change.” that was only a fraction of the truth. But he sure as _shit_ wasn’t going to tell her their whole life story. 

She nodded. “Any reason why Whitefish?” 

Rick’s eyes narrowed sightly. “Miss Chambler-“

“Mrs.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Mrs. I’m married.” 

Why the fuck should he care? 

“ _Mrs. Chambler_ ,” he stressed, feeling irritation slither down the back of his neck, “is there a reason you’re asking so many questions?” 

She crossed her hands on the desk top. “Is it bad that I’m asking questions?” 

No, but it sure was pissing Rick off. He didn’t have time to just sit here and chat. 

“No.” 

“Mr. Grimes, I’m not trying to pry. But I need to make an assessment as to why exactly Carl had this fight. Is everything okay at home?” 

He stopped moving his foot. So it was going to be like this. “As far as I’m aware.” 

“No troubles between you two?” 

“No.” 

“Carl and his sister?”

He leveled her a look. She stopped smiling at that. 

“And what about Carl and his mother?” 

This had to be some fucking horrible joke. When he didn’t answer her right away, she continued. “Kids who are having a difficult time with their parents, especially the moms, can be-“ 

“There’s no problems there.” 

“Are you sure? I-“

“I’m pretty sure. She’s dead.” 

The air in the room suddenly got ten times hotter. Tara blinked owlishly for a couple of moments. She was trying to push down the shock rising to her face. 

“I-I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” 

Did she not check Carls’ file at all? There was a reason why no mother was listed there. 

He didn’t comment her apology. 

“May I ask, how long ago did she pass?” 

She made it sound so sweet and peaceful. It hadn’t been. 

“Five years ago.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” 

Again, Rick didn’t say anything. 

“Do you think that would cause him to lash out?” 

“You know, I still haven’t been filled in as to what’s exactly happened,” he said, growing more frustrated by this situation with every second. His hands felt clammy. “All I was told on the phone was that he had gotten into some fight with another student.” 

That wasn’t his son. Carl rarely got into _physical_ fights.  

Hell, he hadn’t done that shit since 6th grade. 

“It was during their Physical Education class,” who the hell said _Physical Education_? “according to the other students, your son got into a disagreement with another student that turned into a fist fight.” 

“What was the fight about?” 

“We’re still unsure about that. Ron was very hesitant to tell us and your son seemed just as unwilling.” 

“Ron?” 

“Ron Anderson.” 

Of course it had to be one of the Anderson kids. 

Just went to show how shitty their luck was in this family. 

“Have you had problems with that family before?” she asked. 

Rick shrugged, “Not really. Jessie-“ 

“Pardon me?” 

A muscle in Rick’s jaw twitched in annoyance. “Jessie Anderson, Ron’s mother.” 

“Ah, yes.” 

Did this lady know anything? 

“She and I use to be a couple years ago. I think since Ron learned about that, he’s always had a chip on his shoulder.” 

Probably took it out on Carl… 

“How many years ago?” 

Was she going to ask a question about _everything?_

“We were in high school.” 

“I’m assuming you two grew up in the same neighborhood in Georgia then?” 

No, shit Sherlock. 

Rick tapped his foot against the carpeted floor. Seeming to take the message loud and clear, Tara nodded. “Well, that might explain part of it then.” 

“He going to be in trouble?” he nodded towards the waiting room. “No.” she leaned back in her chair. “This is the first time we’ve ever had trouble with him. No blood was drawn, just a lot of bruises. And since graduation is so close,” Rick really didn’t want to think about that, “I’ve decided that no further action is needed.” 

Okay, maybe she wasn’t _completely_ irritating. 

“Thank you.” 

Why the hell was he saying ‘thank you’? Carl should be the one in here doing that.  

His eyes drifted to a picture on the back wall. It was framed in a solid black shadow box, some dried up rose petals adoring a picture. Tara and another woman where both smiling back at the camera. There were fireworks going off in the background. She was wearing makeup. 

Tara followed his gaze and turned slightly to see what he was staring at. She seemed to hesitant. “That’s me and my partner, Denise.” she finally said nervously. 

Rick felt bad for her. It probably wasn’t easy being a principle that was also gay in a small town like this. She seemed to be waiting for some horrible reaction. 

She wouldn’t get it. 

“You two married?” he asked, surprising both of them. 

“A-Ah, yeah we are. Two Summers ago.” 

“Congratulations.” 

A certain level of weight lifted from her shoulders. She was happier; more at ease. There probably wasn’t a lot of people telling her that. 

“Are you re-married?” 

“No.” 

“Well,” she smiled again, “I’m sure you’ll find someone.” 

God, that was pathetic, wasn’t it? What did it matter? Why was everyone so focused on people being married? It was like if you weren’t with someone, you had to have some major issues. 

And well…maybe Rick did. 

But getting into a relationship was the _last_ thing on his mind. 

“Thank you for giving Carl a break. I’ll be sure to sit down and talk with him at home.” 

She stood, sticking out her hand once more. “Of course. And I look forward to seeing you at graduation in a month, Mr. Grimes. It was a pleasure to finally meet you, even if it wasn’t under the best of circumstances.” 

He gave a small smile, taking her hand and shaking it. “It was nice to meet you Miss Chambler.” That was a lie. 

She walked him back out to the waiting room where Carl was playing on the iPhone with Judith. He looked up, a worried expression marring his face. 

Rick made him thank his principle and apologize again for his misconduct before they left. It was the least he could do for her letting him off the hook so easily. 

When they got into the truck, Carl glanced at his father. “So…am I-“

Rick turned on the truck, hearing the engine roar to life. “We’ll talk about it later.” 

“But-“ 

Rick quirked an eyebrow and turned towards him. “Unless you want to have it right now.” 

Carl swallowed, “No, sir.” 

“That’s what I thought.” 

“Are we getting ice cream now?” Judith hinted at from the back seat. Rick adjusted the rear-view mirror and smiled. “We sure are.” 

The drive to the main strip wasn’t the long and so they survived by rolling down the windows instead of blasting the AC. Rick wasn’t sure if cranking it was actually that bad for the engine. But his father had always been on his ass about it and so eventually it became a habit. 

Downtown Whitefish wasn’t much to look at. The tallest building only had five stories and it was a bleak figure. The Wells Fargo logo glared out to the horizon from it’s front-facing windows. 

Other than that, it was a bunch of red-brick buildings with tacky beige and forest green signs. With everyone at work, the street was mainly empty. 

Rick pulled the truck up to a diagonal parking spot outside a small ice cream parlor which Judith had mentioned before. 

A woman’s cheery expression peered down at anyone who passed in front of the building. This was Aunt May, according to the owner. 

Carl helped getting his sister out of her seat while Rick grabbed his small leather-bound notepad from the jockey box.  

“Here, you two run in and grab something to eat. I’m going into Dale’s.” he said, digging into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. Carl balanced Judith on his hip. “You don’t want anything?” he asked as the little girl grabbed the faded green bills from her father’s hand. Rick shook his head, “Nah. But you get whatever you want.” 

Carl seemed suspicious, like this was some crappy prank about to be pulled over on him. Obviously he was still anticipating Rick’s wrath from getting into a fight at school. 

“Or don’t. It’s up to you.” Rick shrugged as he walked down the sidewalk, headed towards the building next door. He didn’t have time to calm his kid’s nerves. 

The place next to Aunt May’s was a butcher shop that had been there seemingly before Custer made his last stand. 

The man who owned it had befriended Rick when they moved to town. And when he found out the Grimes family was starting up a cow farm, they struck up a business relationship. Rick brought him the meat and he sold it. 

All things considered, it was a lucky deal they managed to make. 

“Ah, so the prodigal son returns.” a voice chirped from the counter the moment Rick shoved open the heavy glass door. An annoying bell clanked against the metal frame, signaling to anything inside someone was entering. Though why Dale needed it, Rick had no idea. The walking space inside was tiny. 

“You’re in here a lot earlier than excepted.” The white-haired man said from his place at the register. Rick nodded, setting his notepad on the beaten-up green counter. “Had to pick Carl up early from school.” 

“Everything alright there?” 

“He got into a fight.” 

Another sigh. 

“Really?” Dale’s eyebrows rose, “That doesn’t seem like him.” 

“It isn’t. But apparently shitty circumstances calls for a shitty reaction.” 

“I suppose so…” Dale said slowly, “he gettin’ in trouble? They’re not suspending him, are they?” 

“No, thankfully.” 

Dale reached forward and grabbed the notebook. Rick brought it to him every time they were in town. It had a list of livestock in it; what cows were ready to be brought it, how much they weighed, etc. It was up to Dale to pick and chose. Anything he didn’t want either ended up in the Grimes’ fridge or sold off to someone else. 

“Where are the kids?” Dale asked as he ran his finger up one of the pages, not looking up. 

“Over getting ice cream.” 

“They’ll be able to get candy again pretty soon.” 

“How’s that?” 

Dale motioned vaguely to the other side of the shop. “Someone bought that grocery next door. It has that big candy selection in the back, remember?” 

Rick nodded, “Yeah. Who bought it?” 

“A guy named Negan. Can’t say I remember his last name though.” 

“Any idea why he bought it?” 

Dale shrugged, “Who knows.” 

The grocery was the only one in town. It’s previous owner had died last year from old age. His two daughters had tried running the place by themselves but it proved harder than expected, especially since neither of them were trained in the business. So they put it up for sale. No one had bought it. Everyone in Whitefish had been driving to Half Moon, the next closest town, for their supplies. Now, apparently, they wouldn’t have to continue with the hassle. 

“He said he’ll be opening it by the end of the week. A bunch of workers have been in fixing it up and re-stocking.” 

Rick hummed in acknowledgment, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He should try and talk to the guy. Selling his cows more locally had more benefits than selling out of town, or even out of state.

“I would-“ Dale was beginning to say when suddenly there was a loud shout from outside. It startled both of the men who turned to look out the front of the shop’s wide glass windows. 

At first, they couldn’t see anything. But then there was another shout and a little girl’s cry and- 

Rick didn’t even realize he was moving until the butcher’s door was slamming close behind him. 

Frantically looking around, he spotted the source of the noise. 

Carl was standing on the sidewalk, glaring up at a taller man while Judith stood with her back against the brick wall. 

Instantly, Rick’s parental instincts took over. The overwhelming need to rush over and step in-between his children and the un-known man was too much to ignore. 

He found himself doing just that. 

“What in the hell is going on?” he snapped, features turning suspicious and irritated as he stepped down the cracked side walk. 

Immediately Carl leaned to lock eyes with his father before the man was doing just the same. 

“This your fucking kid?” 

Anger wiped out any other feeling in Rick’s body. 

The man was tall, but had no more than two inches on Rick. His broad shoulders made the black leather jacket he had on stretch across his back. A red handkerchief was tucked into his back pocket. 

He stopped right beside the two, glancing at Judith to make sure she was okay. She held onto a small bowl of green-colored ice cream. 

“What’s going on?” he demanded, ignoring the man’s rude question. “This asshole came around the corner and wasn’t _watching where he was walking,_ ” Carl hissed, “and ran right into me and Judith. He spilled that carton of tomatoes and thinks it’s _our_ fault.” 

Rick looked over to the curb where, sure enough, a smashed box of tomatoes was oozing. Their bright red flesh spilled out across the concrete and were already cooking in the hot sun. 

The man huffed, shaking his head like Carl was telling some ridiculous joke. “There you go, blamin’ it on me again. You know, it’s really fuckin’ rude to lie.” he leaned down, a little too close for Rick’s comfort. “Don’t they teach you manners in the south? Or did you come out of bum-fuck no-where, where they don’t fucking exist?” 

“Alright, listen. I’m sure this was just an accident.” Rick said, holding a hand up. This guy’s cussing was wearing on his nerves. Judith was standing _right there._

Mystery man stood straight and looked at him again. “And who in fuckity-fuck are you?” 

Jesus Christ. 

“I’m Rick Grimes. Carl’s my son.” Rick said, lips turning into a fine line of annoyance. 

“So you’re this prick’s daddy?” the man asked and suddenly the eldest Grimes found his temper rising. 

He had dealt with these kinds of ass-holes before; had pulled plenty of them over in his younger days. They were the ones who would roll down their window and flick cigarette ash onto you or blow smoke into your face. They were the ones who would made lewd comments and spit on the ground like they were marking their territory. 

They were the ones who drank too much on holidays and harassed innocent people. 

They were the ones Rick hated the most. 

“And who are you?” Rick snapped back. 

The man’s smile widened, “I’m Negan. Pleasure to meet you.” 

“Yeah, I wish I could say it was the same.” The farmer was saying before he could really filter his exasperation. 

He didn’t want this asshole knowing he had gotten under his skin. 

“Harsh fuckin’ words for just our first meeting.” Negan feigned hurt, “I like it though, means you’re not a pansy-ass like your son here.” 

Rick didn’t have time for this horse-shit. 

“Look, whatever happened, I’m sure it was an accident. You don’t-“ 

“Accident or not, Rick, I’m now fresh outta tomatoes and someone’s gotta pay for that shit.” Negan said, leaning back on his heels, almost like his body was stressed with every nuance of emotion. 

“I’ll pay for it.” 

“Not that simple, I’m afraid. See, I’m opening this store on Friday and I know you people need your Goddamn tomatoes. So, you’re going to have to sweeten the pot for me.” 

Rick almost couldn’t believe his fucking ears. What did this ass want? 

He asked him just that. 

“How about this- your kid helps me on opening day and I’ll call it even.” 

Rick hesitated. He didn’t know this guy or what his problem was. Just by his talking, it was clear that something was unhinged. 

Then again, Dale obviously knew him and he was the new owner so-

“You can’t be serious.” Carl gritted. 

“Serious as dick cancer.” Negan grinned, leaning again with his words. 

Did this guy ever stand still? 

Carl sputtered at the saying but Rick barely batted an eye. “Fine. He’ll do it.” 

“What! Dad, you can’t-“ 

Rick turned on him, leveling him with the look he was saving for when they were back at the house and were going to have the discussion about the fight. 

Carl instantly bowed under the intensity of it. 

“Wow- _ie,_ your old man’s got a nice look on him.” Negan said, ruining the moment. 

Judith was suddenly at his father’s feet, tugging on his pants. “Papa…” she muttered softly to him. He reached down to pick her up. 

“Well, isn’t she a cutie,” Negan cooed, looking at Judith as she gripped the front of Ricks’ checkered shirt. “Did I scare you, darlin’? I certainly didn’t mean to.” 

It was always an amazement how even the most hardened of people could soften after looking once at Judith. 

Negan, however, still had that manic look about him and Rick wasn’t soothed by his sudden kindness. 

“Carl’ll do it.” Rick repeated, distracting the other from his daughter. 

“Great! Swing by at five and I’ll set him to work.” 

“Five?! In the _morning?”_ Carl repeated but was once again silenced by his dad. 

“I’ll make sure to get him there.” 

“I’m fuckin’ looking forward to it!” Negan said with a dramatic bow of his head. He turned, and eased his way into the grocery. 

“What an asshole.” 

 

~~~~

 

Rick rode back in from the pasture later than excepted. Whitefish wasn’t in the sun belt of the state, but it could certainly get hot during the day. Luckily they were close enough to Glacier that it cooled off a bunch the moment the sun disappeared. 

Rick had bought their first horse a week after moving out to the farm. A large ranch family lived on the other side of the plain and they sold thousands of horses every year. Stark was the Grimes’ first. Almost sixteen hands high, the Australian Stock horse had been the best fit. He had already been trained for herding. The only real issue had been the son-of-a-bitch’s fiery temper which could flare up at the oddest of times. 

Luckily Rick had dealt with stubborn asses before and quickly reined in control of the animal. Soon after purchasing Stark, Dutch and Pineapple joined the family. 

Rick had let Carl and Judith pick them out and name them. 

It was pretty obvious which belonged to which kid. 

After watering and feeding Stark, Rick let him off into the stable to join his brothers. 

It was going to rain soon. 

Rick leaned against the door of the barn, watching as the bright blue sky was swallowed up by fuming clouds. They came rolling off the northern mountains and brought in the static air that signaled a coming thunder storm. 

He’d have to lock the dogs up in the garage 

“Everything okay out here?” a voice suddenly called. Rick didn’t even glance around to know who it was. 

A familiar hand slapped against his back. “We were beginning to worry about you. What took you so long?” 

Rick shook his head. “One of the wolves got a calf.” 

Thomas sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth. “Shit. Just one?” 

Rick nodded. 

“I suppose we should count ourselves lucky then. It could have gotten more.” 

They were both silent for a moment before, “I talked to Carl. Sounds like you met a real prick in town today.” 

Rick snorted, “That’s an understatement.” 

Negan’s bunny-toothed smile appeared in his memory, followed by the pepper beard and tan skin. 

“Sucks even more than he’s the new owner of that grocery. Means we’ll have to deal with him a lot more.” 

Negan didn’t seem like the type of person to buy a grocery store. But, then again, he really didn’t have room to judge people for what they did. 

Still, he just couldn’t imagine the man helping customers or dealing with suppliers- or anything that involved customer service. 

He was more likely to scare people away than invite them in. 

“I should probably head home before that storm hits. The news said this morning that it might take the power out for a little bit. I brought the candles down from the attic and set them on the dinning table.” 

Rick smiled and finally turned to face the other. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome old man.” Thomas laughed, slapping Rick on the back again, teasing him as he always seemed to do. 

Despite them only knowing each other for a little under three years, Rick trust the farm-hand like a younger brother. 

A high school drop-out and then a drunk for the better part of five years, Thomas hadn’t had the best of luck. But after a particularly gruesome night, he decided enough was enough and cleaned himself up. 

When he heard that Rick was looking for a hand at his farm, he had applied. 

They had clicked the moment they talked to each other. 

“Tell the kids I said bye. Carl left you a plate of food in the microwave.” Thomas said over his shoulder as he made his way down the dirt drive way, towards his car. 

Rick watched him drive away, a cloud of dust whirling into the dampening air. 

He hated thunderstorms. 

Locking up the barn, and turning on the outside flood lights, Rick walked in through the back door of the house, kicking his work boots off outside. 

“Papa! It’s gonna rain!” Judith cried happily as she pressed her face up against the living room glass, fogging it up. 

“I saw.” 

Carl was rocking back and forth in the rocking chair in the corner. A large text book sat in his lap while he typed angrily on a calculator. 

Rick was shit at math. He had tried helping the eldest with his homework before but it ended up confusing both of them. 

English or history, that’s what he was good at. 

“What did Bubba make?” he asked, padding into the kitchen through the long hallway. Bubba was a nickname given to Carl by Judith at the tender age of two when she couldn’t pronounce brother. 

Carl thought it was stupid and annoying. 

Rick loved it. 

“Chicken strips!” Judith said, following after her dad and perching herself at the table in the kitchen. Rick started the microwave up, re-heating the plate. 

The off-yellow of the overhead lights casted an eerie glow on the out-dated counter tops. The entire house still looked like it belonged in the 60’s. 

It was probably why they got it so cheap. 

Rick made it his plan to re-do the whole place, starting this Summer. It would keep him occupied. 

The microwave dinged and he gingerly pulled the plate out, as to not burn himself. 

“Papa, who was that mean man who yelled at Carl?” Judith asked as he poured some milk into a mason jar. “His name was Negan. He owns the grocery next to-“

“The one with all the candy in the back?” Judith interrupted, brightening instantly at the news. Rick couldn’t help but grin softly. “Yeah, that one.” 

“Do you think he’ll give us free candy when Carl works there?” 

“Probably not, Jud. He’s working there because he needs to pay off a debt.” 

Finally sitting at the dinning table, he sighed, letting his wore-out limbs visibly relax. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck, staining the collar of his battered shirt. 

“What’s a debt?” 

He cut into one of the strips. “It’s when you owe someone else something.” 

“Like a favor?” 

“Kinda.” 

There was a shuffling noise and Rick looked up to see Carl padding into the room. “You finish your homework?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Good man.” Rick munched away, listening to the sound of distant thunder. 

Finally it was cooling down. 

Judith, seemingly bored with the lack of enthusiasm her father was showing towards paying attention to her, slipped from her chair and went back into the living room. Probably to continue to watch the storm blow in. 

“Thomas said the power might go out.” 

“He left the box of candles on the counter.” 

There was a pregnant pause before Carl was leaning forward, his elbows resting on the wood frame. 

“Dad, listen, about today-“ 

“Just tell me what it was about.” 

“What?” 

“Tell me how the fight started.” 

Carl pressed his lips together. Rick stopped eating. “Look, I’m not your principle. I just want to know why.” 

“He-“ 

“You mean Ron.” 

“Yeah. He… he was saying some shit about this other girl in our class and when I told him to stop- he just snapped.” 

“Which girl?” 

“Carol’s daughter.” 

The young blonde haired girl appeared in Rick’s memory. She was meek but incredibly kind, almost to the point of fault. 

Her mother was a bit of a hard-ass. Scary even. Rick certainly didn’t want to be around when she was pissed. 

“Things escalated. But he threw the first punch.” 

“That where this came from?” Rick asked, pointing to his own right eye. Carl nodded. “It was the only shot he got in.” 

Rick huffed and shook his head. “That isn’t something you should pride yourself on. Beating another student in _never_ okay.” 

“But it was his fucking-“ 

“ ** _Carl,_** watch your language.” He had been too tried from the day to really correct him before. But the moment ‘fuck’ left his mouth, Negan was appearing in his thoughts again and it made his blood boil. 

Another long pause. 

“Am I in trouble?” 

Rick sighed, setting down his silverware to scrub a hand over his face. Dirt and soot and plenty of other things made his face dirty and gross to feel. 

“No,” he finally said, “if you were standing up for someone else then I can’t fault you for that. Besides, working at that grocery is punishment enough.” 

Carl darkened at this, “I can’t believe you agreed to that. It seriously wasn’t my fault.” 

“I know it wasn’t. But arguing with the man was only going to make it worse.” 

The rain started, hitting the tin roof and tinging off. 

“Do I really have to go work there?” 

“Yes, you do.” Rick slowly ate the rest of his dinner, listening as Carl talked about the end of the school plans. A bunch of kids were going camping in celebration and Rick had agreed to let Carl tag along. He figured it was better than some crazy road trip or whatever kids were doing today. 

The storm got worse and worse and when the first clap of thunder rampaged through the home, Judith came scrambling into her father’s lap. 

She ate the rest of his mashed potatoes and peas. 

“Alright, your old man’s gotta hit the hay. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” Rick finally said, cleaning his dishes and setting them aside. 

“Why do you have an early morning tomorrow?” Carl asked as all three of them went upstairs to climb into bed. 

“I gotta talk to the bank about some things.” 

“Everything okay?” he asked, voice a little strained.  

“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s perfectly okay. There’s just some things with…ah…” he suddenly couldn’t find the words.  
“With some of mom’s stuff?” 

Rick nodded stiffly. 

“Can you read me a bedtime story, papa?” Judith asked when they reached her bedroom. Rick cleared his throat, opening his mouth to tell her that it had be a short one because he was ready to fall sleep himself. But then Carl was stepping in and said, “How about I do it?” 

His little sister eyed him carefully, “Will you do all the funny voices papa does?” 

Carl smirked, “I’ll try my best.” 

That seemed good enough for her and she flew to get ready. “Thanks.” Rick said quietly to him, squeezing his shoulder. 

Thunder rolled outside. 

“Have a good night you two.” he said from the doorway as he watched both of them snuggle in Judith’s small bed together. Carl was perched awkwardly on the edge, his tall frame not really fitting. But Judith was curled up right beside him and so they made it work. 

When Rick finally collapsed in his own bed that night, he glanced wearily at the alarm clock. 

Shit. 

He really didn’t want to go to the bank tomorrow. 

When sleep came later, he thought he’d dream of the same thing he had been dreaming about for five years- the incident. 

But instead of seeing his dead wife, or the truck, or Shane, he saw a sly smile covered with a peppered beard. 

_“Who in the fuckity-fuck are you?”_

Who indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all ~ Thanks for all of your lovely comments, they've inspired me to write more! I probably didn't mention this before but, this story is unbeated so all faults are totally mine. 
> 
> In any case, enjoy the next chapter!

“It’s fairly substantial, Rick. I’m not going to lie to you.” 

There was a very good reason he didn’t like coming in here. 

“It doesn’t matter. All I want-“ 

“You’re not curious?” 

And the main reason was staring right back in his face. 

“Why should it matter?” 

“Rick,” the accountant that was in charge of his finances leaned forward in his seat, pressing his palms against the cream-colored paper on the desk. The moment he leaned in, Rick leaned away. “you’re about to inherit a large sum of money and you aren’t curious about how much it is?” 

 _It’s blood money_. He almost said that to him. _Almost._

But the filter from his brain to his mouth counted that as rude, and the comment never left his lips. 

Bob Stookey had to be the most irritating banker in all of Montana. 

And that was saying something because honestly- who _liked_ their bank?

“I’m going to tell you because I think you ought to know.” Bob said, pushing back in his seat and clicking on something appearing on his computer screen. 

This. This right here. This greedy, slimy, fraudulent appearance of envy that appeared in most bankers eyes whenever they caught wind of the Grimes’ money. 

It made Rick grit his teeth. 

“I already know how much it is. That’s not why I’m here, Stookey.” 

He only called someone by their last name either when he was royally pissed or when he couldn’t care enough to say their God-given name. In this case, it was a combination of the two. 

“I just want to make sure that it’s going to the right places.”

Bob seemed to deflate at this, as if the prospect of gobs of money was the only thing that really kept his interest. 

And honestly, it probably was. 

“What about the debts we owe?” 

A couple of clicks on the mouse. “When this insurance money comes in, it should pay everything off. Of course, you still have tons of it left to-“

“And the college funds?” 

More clicks.

“You’ve got enough in there to send both kids to any ivy league school you want, for all four years.” 

Rick nodded, feeling comforted for the first time that day. “But that still doesn’t near use up what you have,” Bob persisted, “I’d suggest putting some in the stock market-“ 

“I don’t trust the stock market.” 

The banker blinked rapidly at him. Was that so hard to believe? 

“You can’t be serious.” 

Apparently, it was. 

“Mr. Stookey, I really appreciate all that ya’ll do but I really don’t need anything beyond those funds.” 

Bob huffed, “You didn’t even ask about retirement.” 

Rick quirked an eyebrow, “Should I be asking about it?” 

The other sighed and shook his head. 

“I thought as much.” Rick stood, brushing off the front of his jeans. “Thanks for meeting with me anyways.” 

They shook hands.

Rick didn’t like shaking hands with assholes. 

 

~~~~~

 

“ _And by God, by God! Do you see them now? 80-foot monsters from outer space! Ladies and gentlemen, we are not the only ones out here! We are-“_

“What are you two watching?” Rick asked as he padded into the living room from the back door. 

Carl jumped, clearly startled, the Pepsi that had been in his glass splashed over the rim of the faint green plastic cup. 

“Christ Dad, you can’t just sneak in here like that!” 

Rick gave him a flat expression before easing himself down in the armchair next to the couch Judith and Carl were lounging on. 

“What is this?” Rick asked again, nodding towards the screen, alit with black and white color. 

“The local station is having an old Sci-fi movie marathon. This is…ah, ‘Space Men from Mars’ or something stupid like that.” 

Rick titled his head. “Why?”

“Why what?” Carl asked back, vigorously dabbing at the soda stain on his shirt with a napkin. 

“Why this? You hate Sci-fi movies.” 

“I don’t hate them. I just hate the ones you like.” 

Rick rolled his eyes. 

“Look at the funny man, papa!” Judith giggled, pointing to the screen as an actor in horrible special effects makeup pretended to devour a helpless bystander. 

_Should he be concerned that she was giggling?_

“How was school?” Rick asked, easing back in the armchair, the nape of his neck hitting the backrest. 

“Good.” Carl shrugged. 

“You always say that.” 

“What more do you want me to say?” 

“Everything good between you and-“

“It’s fine.” 

Rick sighed, crossing his hands over his stomach.  

“How’d things go at the bank?” 

“Just as terrible as they usually do.” 

“Why don’t we just switch?” 

“Name one other bank in this city.” 

Silence. 

“But everything’s alright, right?” Carl’s voice was a bit softer, uncertain. 

Rick looked over at him and they locked eyes. “Yeah, everything’s just fine.”

“I don’t like using that money.” Carl said, “It just feels like we’re celebrating she’s dead.” 

Rick agreed with him. Judith went bouncing into the kitchen, probably to get some animal crackers out of the pantry. 

“I’m not using it for anything we don’t need.”  
“Like?” 

“Like money for you two to go to college.” Rick said, “She would have wanted that.” 

He didn’t get a response.  

Carl went upstairs to put Judith to bed when she came back in and when he returned, they both sat in comfortable tranquility. 

“Do you ever miss her?” Carl asked after a while. 

“Yes.” Rick tells him, staring up at the ceiling as he leans back in the armchair. 

“Even after-“

“It wasn’t her fault.” 

He couldn’t remember how many times he had said that. Too many, probably. 

Carl never believed him. 

“Do you miss her?” he asked back. 

“Sometimes. I try not to think about her.” 

“Why?” 

“The last time I saw her…” he makes a motion that Ricks hears but cannot see. An odd feeling presses against his sternum and he nods. “I get it.” 

“It’s hard to imagine her without picturing that.” 

“I know.” 

Another long pause. “We ever going to tell Judith what really happened?” 

“No. Not until she’s a lot older.” Rick said, voice a little hard. 

“How much older?” 

“When I think she can handle it.” 

He mulls that thought over. Carl had been so young when the incident happened, barely a teenager himself. Having to witness such trauma at such an early age changed things- made him grow up a lot sooner. 

He didn’t have time to be a kid. 

Rick sighed and ran a hand over his face. He was going to make himself more depressed if he kept thinking like that. They had already made peace with the subject. 

“Tomorrow’s Friday.” he changed the topic, hopefully for the better. Carl grimaced, looking over at the grandfather clock in the corner of the living room. 

“I can’t believe you’re still making me do this.”

Rick shrugged, not needing to defend his position. 

“What’s that guy’s deal anyways? Is he new around here?” 

Rick shook his head, “No. Dale said he’s been living here a while. Guess we’ve just had the good fortune of never running into him until now.” 

The ‘running into’ pun wasn’t lost on the boy and he rolled his eyes. Rick smirked. 

“Alright, kiddo. You better head towards bed if you want to get up early tomorrow.” 

“What time again?” 

“Well, if we have to be there at 5,” Rick stood, “then you better be ready by 4:10.” 

Carl groaned. 

 

~~~~~

 

He was a zombie in the morning. Eyes red and puffy from lack of sleep and skin a sort of ashen color, Carl stumbled around the kitchen in a daze while Rick looked on in silent amusement. His kid usually wasn’t dramatic but, he had his moments.

Judith was sitting at the table, mutely nibbling on a piece of slightly burned toast, curiosity of her father’s master cooking abilities. 

“This sucks.” Carl said for what _had_ to be the millionth time. 

“You’re fine.” Rick called over his shoulder as he finished washing the dishes. 

“This sucks.”

“You said that.” 

“It does.” 

Rick huffed before grabbing his jacket from the back of one of the dining table chairs. “You ready to go?” 

“I wish I had school on Fridays.” The teen groaned, almost blindly reaching around to tug on his boots. Rick quirked an eyebrow, “Now there’s a first. Never thought you’d say that.” 

“Whatever.” 

Giving up on trying to brighten his mood, Rick took off outside to start up the truck. If he was being honest, he really wasn’t looking forward to the whole experience either. Negan set him on edge. Picturing the man they met almost two days ago still made his skin crawl. His toothy-grin and inability to stand still was like watching a marionette. A really creepy, narcissistic, marionette. 

Rick considered himself to be a good judge of character. After all, he had spent the better part of his life judging people on whether or not they were going to be a problem. And Negan made all of his warning bells go off. 

“Carl, hurry up! Or else we’re going to be late.” Rick called as he rolled down the windows, letting some of the warm air trapped inside the cab escape. Seconds later, the front porch exploded as the screen door slammed back. Judith was laughing in her brother’s arms, clearly amused by his sour antics. 

Rick, on the other hand, was not. He watched the kid stumble down the front steps and blink rapidly at the morning sun. 

“Should of invested in some damn acting classes.” Rick muttered under his breath, before helping with the car seat. 

Minutes later, they were making their way into town. 

Fog was rolling off the navy mountains, dyed by the lack of light. Perks of being this far north and being so close to the Canadian border- warm weather didn’t really stick around that long. It had been a large adjustment for all of them. Growing up and living in the south, the Grimes family was used to humidity and weather so hot it’d sear your skin. But not here. Here it was dry and mild and just…different. 

They needed different. 

Once again, the city street was near empty. Then again, it was still early and none of the shops were open. 

Except one. 

Inside of the grocery all of the lights were on. 

“This sucks.” 

Rick decided he couldn’t keep answering that statement and instead made himself busy by getting Judith out of the back. He didn’t want to stay here longer than needed. Which, ironically enough, made him feel like he was throwing Carl into the lion’s den to save himself. 

But he wasn’t the worst father, he’d go in and make sure everything was okay before leaving his kid there. 

Pulling on the hood of Judith’s purple jacket, the three of them walked in through the automatic doors and were instantly greeted by the sound of obnoxious rock music. 

Carl’s grimace worsened. 

Rick set Judith down, looking over a couple of rows to try and spot- “Holy Hell!” a voice suddenly yelled, startling all three of them. 

Rick whipped around to see Negan suddenly striding alongside one of the cash registers. Gone was his leather jacket and red bandana. The only things that remained were his white T-shirt and dark jeans. 

“You’re right on fucking time!” He was grin was large and bright and it made Rick’s jaw muscles twitch in sympathy.

“You ready to work, kid?” Negan asked, tilting his head towards Carl as he stopped in front of them. 

The teen shifted on his feet, “Yeah. I-“

“Great! Put these on.” Negan held out a pair of battered gloves which Carl hesitantly took. 

“You can start by moving that shit over to the back room.” he motioned towards a towering stack of boxes near the first aisle. They looked heavy. 

“And I’m assuming you’re checking in on me to make sure I’m not gonna kidnap your kid, right, papa bear?” Negan asked, looking back at Rick. 

 _Papa bear?_  

“Yes.” Needless to say. 

Negan grin only seemed to widen. His gaze, which seemed so sharp under the harsh glare of the overhead lights, shifted over his figure. His eyes were hazel. 

But when his gaze suddenly stopped on the V-neck of Rick’s plaid shirt, it was then that he decided he hated the color. 

Swarmed by anxiety, Rick stepped away.

He’d do anything to get Negan to stop staring at the angry scar that ran along the base of his throat. 

“You’ve fixed this place up a lot.” he commented, trying to remain neutral. 

He wasn’t the greatest at making small talk, but it seemed the best thing to do in the situation. 

Negan hummed, watching him as he looked around. 

Rick didn’t want to meet his eyes again. 

“It needed a helluva lot of work. Those two twats who owned it before me trashed the whole fuckin’ place.” 

Rick’s right eye twitched. 

“Why’d you get it?” 

Negan shrugged. “Needed a change.” 

_Needed a change._

_We needed a change._

Hearing someone else say it felt like a punch to the gut. How many times had he said that exact statement? 

It was an excuse. 

Rick shoved his hands back into his jacket’s pockets, smiling at Carl as he passed by with a stack of boxes in his arms. 

Negan joined him by the cereal aisle. 

“So what about you, Ricky? What are you doing in bum-fuck, Montana?” 

His inquiry was joined by a dramatic shift of his upper body from his lower. He leaned into the question, literally and figuratively. “I sell cattle-”

“Nah, nah. I already knew that. Dale told me all about your little operation up by the border.” 

Was Dale just spilling his guts about everyone in this damn town? 

“I mean,” Negan poked him in his shoulder, “why’d you move here. Your dumb-hick accent is fresh from the middle of fucking Georgia by the sound of it.” 

“I moved because I wanted to.” 

A pause, then, “That’s the most boring fuckin’ answer I’ve ever heard.” 

“Sorry to disappoint.” Rick spat before suddenly looking around. 

Where was Judith? 

That sickly stab of panic made itself known in the center of his chest the moment he couldn't locate his youngest child. 

_Where was she?_

Rick stumbled away from Negan before taking off down the rows of produce. “Where in the hell do you think you’re going?” Negan called after him, following moments later. 

_Where was she?_

_Goddamnit. He always lost her._

_Lori used to get after him for not paying attention enough._

“Judith!” he shouted. 

“Here, papa!” a tiny voice answered him and he rushed towards it. In the back of the store there were brightly colored lights, shades of pink and purple, that highlighted rows upon rows of candy. And there, sitting in the middle of a growing pile of wrappers, was Judith Grimes. 

“Jud! _What are you doing?”_ Rick hissed, reaching her. She was stuffing chocolate buttons into her mouth. 

“Look, papa! Mr. Negan put the candy back!” she seemed pleased with herself. 

Rick was not. 

“Judith, you know you're not supposed to take off without me. And,” he crouched down in front of her, taking the last button from her sticky fingers, “You also know you’re not supposed to take things without asking.” 

“But-“

“ _No buts.”_

She visibly slouched, feeling the weight of her father’s disappointment. Rick went to stand and apologize to Negan, but instead he was met with the flash of a camera and laughing. 

_A fucking camera and laughing._

“What the hell?!” he blurted, eyes squinting against the sudden shock of light. When Negan finally stopped chuckling, he said, “I’m sorry but,” he turned his phone around to show a picture of an incredulous looking Rick and a giggling Judith. 

It was a candid shot. 

It was simple and sweet. 

And it belonged to a mad man. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rick gritted out, standing abruptly. Carl appeared over Negan’s right shoulder, obviously having heard the shouting and suspected the worst. 

He always suspected the worst. 

Negan glanced behind him and grinned. “Your old man is mighty pretty when he’s angry, kid.” 

Carl blinked so rapidly Rick was sure he was having a seizure. 

Rick was having an equally hard time processing what he just heard. 

“Are you…” Carl let out a disbelieving huff of laughter, shaking his head, a perfect expression of disgust and confusion on his face, “are you _flirting_ with my _dad?”_

“And what if I was?” Negan jeered, “He’s a single man. And a mighty good-looking single man at that.” 

“I’m sorry- _what?”_ Rick stressed, eyebrows almost hitting his hairline. Judith giggled from her throne of wrappers. “Papa, he said you’re pretty!” 

Antipathy settled on the two Grimes men. 

Rick wanted out. 

But he wasn’t going to say or show that. 

Negan obviously _lived_ off of reaction. 

“I’ll come back by to get Carl later,” he said, bending down to get his daughter, schooling his features back to normal. “sorry about the candy.” His limbs felt a little weak. 

Why though? 

_When was the last time someone flirted with him?_

“If it’s going to someone as sweet as her, I’ll consider it put towards a good cause. But,” Negan jutted over to Carl, “that just means you’ll have to work another day here, kiddo.” 

“WHAT!” Carl’s voice echoed through the store and Rick winced. Negan’s bark of laughter joined it. He clapped the teen on the back. “Don’t worry about it! You’ll pay off the debt soon enough.” 

Carl glared at his sister. 

“That picture-“ Rick started to say. 

“Stays with me and only me.” 

Rick settled him a with a stony look. 

“What? It’s nothing bad.” 

Rick’s look did not waver. 

“Fine! Fine! I’ll delete it!” 

“What picture?!” Carl interjected but he was ignored. “Look, all deleted- see?” Negan held up his phone to show the album on his iPhone. 

Rick couldn’t help his eyes from filtering over the other pictures. 

He saw one with a row of motorcycles, another with a glimmering pool, another of a giant moose. 

And another of Negan _completely naked_. He was standing in front of a mirror. His lean body held muscle that- 

Instantly Rick flushed a brilliant shade of red and his narrowed eyes went to Negan’s who’s shimmered with unspoken laughter. 

 _‘Motherfucker, he wanted me to see that’_ Rick thought. He swallowed thickly. 

At least the picture wasn’t there anymore. 

“I’ll see you later, Carl.” he said to his kid, kissing him on his forehead. 

He left like the Devil was nipping at his heels. 

Maybe he was. 

 

~~~~~

 

Negan was officially a psychopath. Carl was sure of it. He listened as the man prattled on and on about different things, watching him work from his spot near the back deli counter where he was sliding in placards displaying prices and names. 

Carl had been charged with re-stocking the last aisle. 

So far he had learned that Negan was from Seattle and moved to Whitefish ten years ago. 

He had been remodeling his house and had just finished. 

He liked classic-rock, if the Pandora station was anything to go on. 

He cursed more than a drunken sailor and didn’t apologize for it. 

His upper body was littered with tattoos, most of which he got when he was a teenager. 

He was an avid motorcyclist and had been on track to become a professional baseball athlete after college. 

Most of what he learned explained a lot. 

Negan wore through his nerves like a knife slicing through butter. 

Not only was he loud and abrasive, but he was also rude and crude. Everything that came out of his mouth as tinged with ill-sentiment that only made their working relationship worse. 

Carl tried to distract himself by finishing the jobs assigned to him but, it was no use. Tuning Negan out was like trying to stop a bullet with a piece of cardboard- utterly pointless. 

Finally relenting to it, Carl listened to everything that was told to him. 

After a while, it didn’t seem that bad. 

Negan, for all intents and purposes, was actually funny in his own fucked-up sort of way. His corny jokes were enough to break the tension that would otherwise be present. Plus, he didn’t seem to mind rambling about whatever he wanted. 

A couple of hours in is when it started to turn south again. 

“So where’d you get this fuckin’ thing from?” he motioned towards his eye and Carl lightly touched his face. 

Enid had suggested he put concealer on it to help with the appearance. But honestly, he kind of liked it. The dark and bruised skin made him look rougher. 

“I got in a fight at school.” he said nonchalantly, dusting some packaging material from the metal shelf. 

“Is that fuckin’ so?” Negan laughed, slapping on the last lettering of a sign for scallops. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a fightin’ man.” 

“I’m not.” Carl said, “But the other guy was being an asshole.” 

“What’d he do?” 

Negan took entirely too much interest in this. “He was picking on a girl in our class.” 

“That’s it?” 

Carl looked up, pressing his lips into a fine line. “That’s enough of a reason.” 

“Far fuckin’ from it. Why didn’t she do something about it?” 

“She’s…shy. She wouldn’t have done anything.” 

“Then she deserves to be bullied.” 

Carl almost dropped the jar in his hands and turned his angered face towards the shop owner. “Are you serious?” 

Negan shrugged, “It’s just natural selection.” 

Carl’s eyes widened. 

Just when he thought Negan wasn’t _totally_ an asshat, he goes and says this. 

“ _That’s_ fucking stupid!” he shouted, setting down the jar. “How can you say that? Just because someone doesn’t like arguing suddenly they’re the asshole?!” 

“Woah, calm the fuck down there, kiddo. Didn’t mean to get your panties in a twist.” 

“Christ.” Carl muttered under his breath, turning back to his task. 

“You know, you and your old man both have that same ol’ stink eye that he was giving me earlier.” 

_When he had been flirting._

“Wow, really? I wonder where that comes from.” Carl drawled sarcastically. There was a pause before another round of laughter. 

God, it was like listening to a hyena. 

“You’ve got humor, kid. I like that.” 

Obviously. 

“Tell me more about him.” Negan asked, leaning against the end display full of miscellaneous items. 

“Why?” 

“We’re neighbors now, aren’t we? In a town this fuckin’ small, we ought to know who we’re livin’ with.” 

Carl shifted another jar between his two hands. He was overprotective of his dad. It was an uncommon occurrence. Kids usually were protective, but they didn’t make an actual effort to shield their parents from people. 

His dad had been through enough to last numerous lifetimes. But through it all, Rick had always put Judith and him and the center of everything. No matter what. 

Carl was old enough to recognize and appreciate that.

But Negan was knocking down the front door, armed to the teeth, and he wasn’t going to leave until he got some answers. 

“What do you want to know?” he asked slowly, still hesitating. Maybe he’d get lucky and Negan would lose interest. 

The older man tilted his head, “Anything. Everything. Mr. Grimes perks my interest.” 

“Why?” 

“A, your dad is hot as fuck. B, he’s got that sort of stick-up-his ass personality that is so fucking _fun_ to tease. And C, he’s hot.” 

Carl let out a string of curses, bending down to the last shelf. “You’re insane.” he said matter-of-factly. 

“Insane is just another word for fun! But that doesn’t mean I’m bad.” 

“That literally makes no sense.” 

“Listen, kid. You gonna tell me or not?” 

The teen sighed, “How about this- for every question I answer, you cut off a minute I have to work next time, alright?” 

His dad was making him do this, might as well get something out of it.

“Fair enough,” Negan grinned, “okay, start small. What’s his favorite color?” 

“What?” 

“Are you fuckin’ deaf or something?”

Carl gritted his teeth. “Green.” 

“Really?” 

“Why is that surprising?” 

There was no answer to that.  

“What about favorite food?” 

Carl paused, “Anything, really.” 

“Come on, everyone’s got a favorite.” 

“He’ll literally eat anything.” 

“Christ, that’s boring too.” 

Carl rolled his eyes. 

“Alright… what does he do in his free time?” 

“What free time?” 

“Are you fuckin’ serious?” 

Carl threw his hands up, “How am I suppose to know? He hasn’t taken a day off since we moved here.” 

“And before?” 

“I don’t know! I was a kid! I didn’t pay attention to him that much.” 

Negan drummed his fingers against his forearm, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He narrowed his eyes, “Why aren’t you more freaked out?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You act like you can’t hear for shit. Stop actin’ so fuckin’ dumb.” 

It took a lot of will power not to chuck a jar into the other’s face. “What do I have to be freaked out about?” 

“Me being all hot and bothered by your old man.” 

“Because I know nothing will come out of it.” 

“How’s that?” 

Carl stood and pointedly looked Negan up and down. The other shifted, standing taller. “Yeah,” Carl leveled him with a lazy look, “defiantly not going to happen.” 

The man’s eyebrows furrowed together, “What the _fuck_ is that suppose to mean?” 

“Dad would literally **_never_** _in a billion_ ** _years_** date someone like you.” 

“Aw, you don’t know that,” Negan said, flashing his perfect teeth, “he hasn’t met anyone like me before.” 

Carl rolled his eyes again. “Well, you’ve managed to make the shittest first impression ever. So I’d say you’re off to a crappy start.” 

“No thanks to you.” Negan huffed. 

“Fuck you too.” 

 

~~~~~

 

“Jud, stop crying.” 

“B-B-But what happened to George?!” 

“He got taken away.” 

“But why?!” 

“Because he had a sock stuck to him, remember? Monsters are afraid of human things.” 

“But why?” 

Back to this again. 

Rick rubbed his eyes for a moment before returning them to the road. After taking Judith to the park, he had seen a sign saying that the old movie theater was showing ‘Monsters Inc.’ and it was Judith’s favorite. They had gone. 

Every time they watched it though, she always got caught up with the whole George scene. Apparently is stressed her out enough that a random monster would be swooped in on, shaved, and taken away without an explanation. 

It was a good sign in his book. 

At least she cared. 

“But where is he?!” She continued to cry as they pulled back down main street. “He’s back at his home relaxing and growing his fur back. He’s fine, Jud.” 

“But how do you know?” 

“Because I just do.” 

It was a bullshit response. When his father gave him the same answer when he was younger it used to drive him up the wall. Now he found himself using the same excuse. 

When they pulled up, the grocery was swarmed with people. The news of the opening reached all of Whitefish and people were in doing their weekly shopping. 

It brought a liveliness to the street that hadn’t been there before. 

Rick kept Judith in his arms as they walked in, scared that he’d lose her with all of the people moving about. 

The moment he stepped in, he was greeted by the sight of an exasperated looking Carl working a register while Negan was sweet talking a bunch of old ladies. 

How in the hell was that even possible? 

“Dad!” 

He made his way over to his son who was helping another person check their groceries. “Looks like he put you to work.” Rick said, fighting to hold back a grin. His kid looked so helplessly lost. 

“He said I can’t leave until all of these people are gone.” 

“Makes sense. I-“ 

“ _Dad!”_

“What do you want me to do about it?” 

“Something! Anything! Go flirt with him or something.” 

Rick’s expression fell flat. “I doubt that would help either of us.” 

“Young man, don’t forget my orange juice.” a lady at the counter said as Carl whizzed through her things. 

Rick allowed himself a small chuckle, pissing Carl off even more, before abandoning him to get away from the crowd. 

He bounced Judith slightly on his hip as they walked down one of the quieter aisles. 

“Well, aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes.” A voice said, slithering down Rick’s neck. 

_Too close._

He instantly turned on his heel and almost knocked Judith’s skull against Negan’s chin. 

_When had he gotten so close?_

“Your kids a good worker, I’ll give him that.” 

Rick held his ground, planting his feet to the spot where he stood. Backing away meant blood in the water and he wasn’t about to entice a shark. 

“Yeah, I’d like to think so too.” 

Negan’s grin made another appearance. 

Rick swallowed thickly, hands fidgeting against Judith’s back. 

“How would you like to go on a date with me?” 

Rick blinked. 

_Was he being serious?_

“No.” 

Negan’s grin turned into a mocking frown, “How come?” 

“Because you’re an asshole.” 

Negan laughed, “That’s part of my charm!”

“What charm?” 

“Ouch,” Negan placed his hands over his chest where his heart should be, “You’re really hurting me here, Grimes.” 

He didn’t apologize for it. 

“How about this- you go on a date with me and your kid doesn’t have to work another day.” 

“Fat chance.” 

Rick glanced at his watch, ignoring the wall of comments Negan was saying in reaction to his rejection. He was itching to get back home. He couldn’t just leave Thomas there all day. The man had his own home to get back to. 

“You got somewhere you need to fuckin’ be?” Negan’s voice suddenly took a dramatic turn for the worst. Gone was it’s light tone, replaced by a certain edge Rick wasn’t totally sure he liked. 

They locked eyes again. 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” 

“Didn’t they teach you pricks down in the south any fuckin’ manners?” 

_What was his deal about manners?_

“Plenty,” Rick said, glaring back, “especially when it comes to assholes who think they’re tough shit.” 

He didn’t like cursing in front of Judith, really he didn’t. She was like a parrot half the time, repeating everything that he said. Thankfully she hadn’t caught onto curse words. Yet. 

“I’ll come back later when you close.” Rick said, turning to walk away. But then a hand was reaching out to grab his elbow and he snapped. 

He wheeled on Negan, jerking his arm away. “Don’t you _ever_ lay a hand on me. Do that again and I’ll _break your jaw and watch your choke on your own goddamn teeth._ ” he seethed.

His drop in demeanor wasn’t lost on Negan who raised his hand in a sort of calming motion, like Rick was some wild animal in need of a pet. 

His eyes were slightly wider. 

“Woah, take it easy there, Grimes.” 

Rick sneered at him, “The moment I start listening to the horse-shit coming out of your mouth is the day hell freezes over.” 

Some of the other customers in the grocery, turned, hearing the argument. 

They both ignored them. 

“Text me when you’re done.” Rick said to Carl as he passed him on his way back out. 

The kid stared after him in confusion before looking back at Negan. 

He expected to see a sour-looking expression. 

Instead he saw a shark grin. 

“Your dad sure is something else.” 

 


	3. Chapter 3

“What do you mean you don’t want to celebrate?!” 

Rick sighed, looking up from the weighted horseshoe in his hands. He had been carding through a box after realizing that they hadn’t changed out Pineapple’s shoes yet. “I mean exactly what I said- I don’t want to do anything.” 

“That’s bullshit, we have to do something!” Thomas said, looking at him with pure and clear confusion. The idea of not throwing some kind celebration was completely lost on the younger man. 

“Tom, it’s not that big of a deal.” 

“It’s your birthday!” 

“And yet,” Rick shucked the shoe into the rapidly growing pile near his feet, “it’s just another reminder that I’m getting older. I tend not to dwell on it.” 

“You’re not old.” 

“Says the person who’s almost fifteen-years my junior.” 

Thomas gave a dramatic sigh. “You make it sound so morbid. It doesn’t have to be. We could do something really small.” 

“Tom, I-“ 

“Drinks. You have to come out and have drinks with your friends at least. I won’t take no for an answer.” 

“Because that turned out so well last year?” 

“Alright, I’ll admit, I got a little too drunk. That’s my fault. But I promise it won’t happen again. I promise.” 

Glenn, Maggie, Thomas, Dale, Michonne, Aaron and Daryl had gone out drinking together last time. All of them could keep their liquor down but apparently that wasn’t the point of the party and so numerous shots in, things began to blur together. 

Rick had woken up the next morning on the living room floor with Thomas’ leg flung over his back. If he had been too old for that shit then, he certainly was too old for it now. 

He had to admit, though, it had been fun. Sitting around all of his closest friends was something that didn’t happen enough. Daryl still lived down in the south, and everyone had their own lives to worry about. Of course, that didn’t stop them from making frequent stops over at the house. Most of all- Glenn and Maggie. They had a small baby, only a couple months old. He was named after Maggie’s father who passed away a few years ago. 

Hershel had taught Rick almost everything he knew. He’d never be able to make it up to the old man, but keeping his family close was the best thing Rick could do.  

“I’ll even arrange it and everything.” 

He missed those nights talking with friends. 

Rick eyed him, “If it’ll get you to shut up about it-“ 

“Perfect! 

He glanced outside. The sun was getting lower, skimming the edge of the mountains.

 

~~~~~

 

“Either of his parents have blue eyes?” 

Carl didn’t look up. “Why does that matter to you?” 

Negan grinned like the Cheshire Cat that he was. “Because I’m wondering where your daddy got those gorgeous blues of his.” 

Carl paused, stripping another label from a bottle of water. Now that he thought about it… “No, neither of my grandparents have blue eyes.” 

Negan hummed, still looking him from his spot across the back storage room. 

It would have been hot as hell back there were it not for the industrial sized freezer that sat right next to the loading dock. Carl’s back was leaned up against it and it helped beat some of the Summer heat. “It’s a genetic mutation.” 

“What?” 

“Blue eyes. We learned about in Biology when I was a sophomore. You get blue eyes from some mutation in your genetics. That’s why some people have blue eyes even though neither of their parents do.” 

Negan stared at him, “You’re not one of those fucked-up, fuckin’ out of their minds, smart, little-shit, kids, are ya?” 

Carl snorted, “No.” 

“Then don’t start spewing shit like that.” 

The teen signed, setting down another carton of water. He really hated this job. 

And yes it was a _job_ now that Negan had hired him for the Summer. He hadn’t wanted to at first. The idea of being stuck here with the psychopath was enough to give him a serious migraine. But then his dad was telling him that whatever it paid, he got to keep. 

The pay was good. 

Begrudgingly, he took it. 

Rick would drive him into town in the morning for school and then Carl would walk over to work afterward. Graduation was fast approaching and soon he wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. 

The goal was really to just get out of high school. 

“Alright, question time! You know the drill.” Negan announced, getting up from his throne of boxes and picking up the crate Carl had just finished organizing. He followed him out into the store. No one was around and so they had closed early. 

The two had come to an agreement early on that for every question Carl answered about his father, he got a minute shaved off of his working hours, pay included. 

It was too sweet of a deal to pass up. 

Of course, Rick didn’t know about it. 

So far they had gone through the basics: favorite color, favorite food, favorite music, etc. etc. Carl knew Negan was only asking so he could try and woo the eldest Grimes. 

He only gave answers because he was comforted by the fact that the relationship would never come to fruition. 

The last time the two had seen each other, Rick had been so pissed he drew the attention of nearly the whole store. Everyone in town heard about the feud soon after. 

In a place this small, stories spread like wildfires. 

“He got any siblings?” Negan asked as he zigzagged his way into the drinks aisle. Carl nodded, “Yeah, he’s got a younger brother.” 

“How much younger?” 

“Only two years.” 

“What’s his name?” 

“You realize these all count as separate questions-“ 

“You think I’d be fuckin’ askin’ them if I didn’t?” Negan interrupted, shoving some water bottles out of the way to replace them with the new. 

Carl puffed out his cheeks, letting out an irritated noise. 

“Jeffery.” 

“Rick and Jeffery, huh? He still around?” 

“Yeah, he lives in Atlanta.” 

“What does he do? No, wait- let me guess. Mechanic?” 

“No. He’s-“ 

“I ain’t done fuckin’ guessin’.” He snapped, “Janitor?” 

Carl gave him a deadpan look. 

“Electrician?” 

“No. You want a hint?” 

“Where’s the fuckin’ fun in that?” 

He stocked another shelf. 

“Plumber.” 

“Not entirely-“ 

“The fuck that suppose to mean?” 

Carl narrowed his eyes. He was at the end of his rope. “It means you’re getting closer, dickhead.” 

“ _What did you just call me?”_ Negan’s voice was abruptly sharp. Carl felt his fevered skin ripple with goosebumps, a primal alarm system telling him to abort. 

“I, uh-“ he stammered. _What the hell was happening?_

The anger turned on him was so out of the blue, he couldn’t find his words to retaliate.  

“You just call me a ‘dickhead’, Grimes? Because if you fucking did, Oooh, boy are you gonna regret it. _I swear to God_.” 

“I’m sorry!” Carl found himself saying before anything else could happen. 

Negan’s features had twisted into a hard expression, hazel eyes alit with some hidden fire. Carl blinked at him in surprise. 

“Apology accepted.” Negan said slowly, lips then cracking to show his twisted smile. 

He had to be bipolar, there was no other way to explain his sudden shift in moods. Totally and utterly manic. 

“Handy man?” 

Carl cleared his throat, still not sure as to what had just occurred. His fingers twitched. He had been gripping the edge of the shelf harshly, only to realize it in this moment. “Closer.” 

“Construction.” 

Carl nodded, relieved that the answer was finally out in the open. Each guess seemed like another second gone on a bomb about to explode. 

“ _Christ on a crutch_ , your family couldn’t get any more redneck, could they? All blue-collar work.” 

Carl didn’t consider them to be rednecks. His Uncle Daryl was a redneck. But not the Grimes. He wasn’t going to correct him. 

Negan didn’t exactly _scare_ him but the man was so on the edge between sane and insane that Carl didn’t want to be the one to tip him the wrong way. 

“They close?” 

“Yeah, real close.” 

“You still see him a lot?” 

Carl shrugged, clearing his throat again. When had a knot gotten there? 

“Yeah, he usually flies out here when he can.” 

“He around for Christmas and all of that shit?” 

“Yeah.” 

Negan hummed, stacking the last of the water. He handed the crate back to Carl. 

He felt uneasy about the personal questions, but they were to be expected, he supposed. 

“He got a family?” 

“He got married last summer-“ 

“Was Rick his best man?” 

“Yeah, why-“ 

“I bet he looks _smokin’ hot_ in a suit.” 

Carl gave a long sigh. He had never heard anyone out loud say such things about his dad. Sure, there were wandering gazes he noticed at stores and what not- people had the tendency to stare.  

But thinking of his dad in any kind of romantic partnership made him feel queasy. Carl wanted him to be happy- yes. That was the end goal. But it was hard for him to picture him _dating._

Carl had only asked him about it once. 

Rick had shrugged and said, “I don’t feel like it.” meaning he wasn’t actively looking for someone to fill the void that his mom left. 

Carl didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. 

“Is he protective of his brother?” 

“Yeah. A lot.” 

Negan didn’t ask any more questions.

After they were done closing up the back of the shop, Carl checked the clock on the wall and frowned. His dad was usually early picking him up. 

Carl always scheduled himself to get off of work at least ten minutes early because that’s typically how many questions Negan asked him each day. 

Now it was almost twenty minutes past the end of his shift. 

Rick wasn’t late like that. 

“You’re lookin’ at that clock like it fucked your mother the wrong way. Relax, kid.” Negan said as he passed behind him. 

Carl instantly reacted, fists clenching at his sides, nails biting into the palms of his hands. He desperately wanted to tell his boss to shove it where the sun didn’t shine, but he didn’t want to risk bringing out his sour mood again. 

Negan popped open a couple of Cola’s at the front counter, offering one to Carl as they waited. 

Not too long after, Rick came marching in the front doors. He was curt and short with Negan as always. 

“Evenin’.” 

“Evenin’.” 

They both greeted each other with, only Negan’s was tied to a flirty smile. 

“Sorry I’m running late. Thomas and I got distracted and…” he motioned, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. 

“It’s alright.” Carl said, finishing off the rest of his glass bottle. When he went to return it to Negan, he noted his expression had changed again. It was disgruntled. 

“Who the fuck is Thomas?” he asked. 

“None of your business-“ 

“Our farm hand-“ 

Rick and Carl answered at the same time, both staring at each other as if betrayed. 

“Farm hand?” Negan repeated. 

Carl would bet his right eye that it sounded somewhat…relieved. If that was even possible. 

“Look, it doesn’t matter. Let’s go.” Rick said, motioning for his son to hurry up. 

“What’s the rush?” Negan drawled, sauntering his way from behind the counter. Carl made a B-line to the back room to get his things. 

Rick held his ground despite an approaching enemy. 

“You really hate me that much?” Negan asked, tilting his head as he peered down at the other. He tilted far too close when he talked to people. This decaying layer of separation always seemed to shrivel up the moment he encroached on Rick’s personal space. 

The farmer angled his head up to meet his gaze, and for a moment, there was a steely camaraderie. Neither looked away. 

They could both recognize a backbone when they saw one. 

When Carl returned, Rick moved to push him towards the front. Subconsciously he always placed his person between Negan and his son, as any protective parent would. However, it only made something within Negan keen with delight. He saw weakness in an otherwise solid area and Rick wasn’t even aware of it. 

_Perfect._

“I’ll be seeing you around, sweet cheeks!” Negan called after them. He always called Rick some horrible pet name. It was like he had Googled ‘southern terms of endearment’ and was trying to tick off every name he saw on the list. 

It was yet another reason to be annoyed with him. 

 

~~~~~

 

Waking up on his birthday had started off like it had for every year since his children had been old enough to talk. 

The kids had managed to scramble together a breakfast made up of pancakes (with chocolate chips), bacon, eggs, and orange juice. They sat at the table together, munching happily, enjoying the warm morning. The day consisted of regular work, something Rick had insisted on. Breaks weren’t a thing anymore, even on birthdays or holidays. If no one was out tending the fields or checking the stock, then something could happen. 

Paranoid? Maybe. But it was better to be safe than sorry. 

In the end, Thomas had done a pretty good job of planning the evening celebrations. 

“It’s a hippy bar.” 

Glenn sighed, “Hipster, Dale. That’s the word you’re trying to use.” 

“Hipster?” 

“Yeah. Not hippie.” 

“What’s the difference?” 

Rick muted his laugh in the brim of the gin and tonic in his hands. ‘Louis Xlll’ was a popular biergarten in town. It stretched against the five-mile road and was all outdoors. Thousands of Edison lights were strung across from rafters and long plank tables were filled with visiting friends and family. 

Rick’s group took up one such table. 

They all caught up, talking about what each person had been doing since they were all together last. Thinking back on it now, it had probably been around a couple of months. 

Glenn and Maggie co-owned the hottest restaurant in town and it was no surprise when they announced they had managed to pay off their debts in a matter of months after opening it. 

Thomas talked working on the farm and taking classes online.

Aaron had broken up with Eric but was dating Jesus now, something they had all been suspecting for some time. 

Michonne was an E.R. doctor and despite the rather gruesome detail in which she told stories, everyone always wanted to hear them. 

And Dale simply spoke about his grandchildren and traveling back to California for the winter. 

“So, forty-two. How does it feel?” Michonne asked as Glenn tried to explain some more lingo to Dale who seemed frustrated by slang. 

“Good, I suppose. Can’t say I’m really excited about it. After thirty you don’t keep looking forward to birthdays.” 

She grinned, nodding, “I get that.” 

Thomas was pressed up against Rick’s side, something he had noticed but said nothing about. The kid was always touchy-feely, an outcome of being rather touched-starved most of his life. Or, at least, that’s what Rick had surmised. 

Pointing it out was just going to be awkward. 

“Heard you’ve been havin’ some trouble with our new shop owner.” Maggie said, her southern twang heavier than Rick’s. 

The older man snorted, taking another drink, “That would be an understatement.” 

“Is he really that much of an ass?” Glenn asked and Dale nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“Oh, come on. He can’t be that bad.” Thomas said, trying to die down the hype. 

“I’m not trying to bullshit you, but the man has got a seriously twisted way of lookin’ at things.” Dale shot back. “You know, I saw him make Ms. Marjorie burst into tears the other day.” 

“The English teacher from the high school?” 

“The one and the same.” 

She was a kind and gentle soul. She probably didn’t stand a chance the minute she walked into the grocery. 

“In any case, he seems to have taken a liking to our very own birthday boy here.” Dale continued.  

“Is that so?” Maggie smirked. 

“He can join the club.” Thomas muttered softly and only Rick seemed to hear him.  

His skin prickled at the small comment, his own body giving him some small warning. 

It wanted him to pay attention but his mind was too occupied with other things to heed it. 

“Can’t imagine why. We aren’t particularly on the best of terms.” Rick said, resting his cheek against his fist. 

“The mind works in mysterious ways.” 

 

~~~~~

 

 

He used to live here. A little shitt-er, a little messier, perhaps back when he would curl up in a ball near the trash cans. Some of the businesses had been replaced with new establishments, but the alley remained the same; it was still familiar to him. 

The God-awful yellow lamp lights flickered on either side of the entrances, leaving the space between the buildings cast in almost complete darkness. 

It was private and away from anything open this late. For a homeless person it was perfect; separated from society so that no one could cast their judgmental stares at you as you fought to keep warm. No drunk idiots trying to take your things or get into fights. No stray animals to attack you. Perfect. 

Rick had taken his keys after realizing that he had drunk too much. _Again_. Thomas admitted he felt a little buzzed but safe enough to drive. As a recovering alcoholic, he’d never let himself get full on hammered. In reality, he probably shouldn’t be drinking at all but, he wanted to celebrate. 

But trying to convince an ex-cop was like yelling at a wall. 

He would probably be annoyed if only Rick wasn’t the one looking out for him. Yes, the older man cared about everyone, but Thomas chose to ignore that. 

He wanted to feel special. 

Perhaps it was selfish and perhaps it was only adding up the hurt he might experience in the future. 

Confessing your love for someone wasn’t easy, especially when said person was completely oblivious. The rejection was going to hurt, _a lot._

For the better part of the years Thomas had been working on the farm, he had been head over heels in love with Rick. 

And who wouldn’t be? 

A veiled sense of command and strength wrapped up in kindness and charisma, topped with a gorgeous body? 

It was hard not to be attracted to that. 

Plus the way he was with his children was almost too much to bear. That feeling of family was something Thomas had never experienced. As cliche as it sounded, his father had passed away when he was very young and as a result, his mother became an abusive drunk. Sarah, his older sister, was the only real family connection he said. But she had moved over to Bozeman years ago, leaving him alone in Whitefish. 

When he cleaned himself up and found a job with the Grimes, he also found a place to call home. Carl and Judith were like the kids he never thought he’d have and Rick…Rick was something else. A cloud he couldn’t pin down, to say the least. 

But he was working on it. 

This past year he had started to make more obvious moves. He’d let their hands touch a bit more, lean against him, stand closer. 

If it was working, he had no idea. Rick was impossible to read. Which of course, only made him that much more attractive. 

One of the lamps at the end of the alley flickered, sparked, and went out. That side of the backstreet fell into darkness and Thomas cursed. 

Digging into his pocket, he pulled out his phone and quickly queued up the flashlight. “Goddamn city council and their bullshit ‘handymen’. Can’t fix jack-shit in this town.” he muttered under his breath. 

Okay, maybe he was a little more than buzzed if he was actually getting pissed about a streetlight burning out. 

He was about halfway down the alley when suddenly a whistle pierced the silence of the night. It startled him so much that he almost drop the phone. 

_What the hell?_

“Who’s there?” he shouted, turning around to face the other direction. From the lighting, he could barely see anything. If someone was standing in this alley with him, they wouldn’t need to put much effort into hiding. The whistling continued. 

It wasn’t a song or even a sort of pattern. It was just a long tone dropping in pitch with each new start. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight. 

“Stop fucking around and come out! I don’t have time to deal with your bullshit!” he shouted again, inner panic making his voice strain. 

Thomas wasn’t a massive guy. Pretty regular, compared to a majority of people. 6 feet fall and only 150 Ibs…that wasn’t much in a fight. He’d hold his own but for how long? And how-

Another whistle joined the first and a chill went straight down his spine. 

Shit. 

He took off running for the other end of the alley, that fight or flight response kicking in- and he was choosing flight. 

His boots slapping the pavement echoed off the brick buildings on either side of him, but the whistles drowned it out. They got closer. 

“Leave me the fuck alone!” he yelled over his shoulder, swinging his phone around to try and see who was messing with him. 

Maybe this was just some stupid prank. Maybe someone would step out of the shadows, laughing, and tell him what a baby he was. 

Thomas almost prayed for that now. 

Anything besides the unknown. 

He barely made it halfway down the alley when suddenly someone stepped out. He was wiry and had a horrible mustache. Bald. Scary. Thomas skidded to a stop, holding the light up. “Who the hell are you? What do you want?” 

The man grinned and Thomas turned to take off the other direction. There had been two whistlers, right? Where was-

Suddenly his world exploded into agony. He felt the soft tissue of his face split open as something heavy and sharp pierced his skin. Screaming out in torment, he fell to the ground, hands instantly going to his face to check for damage. Sticky warm blood splashed against his fingertips as he felt around. His nose was defiantly broken, though he couldn’t feel that particular pain yet, and his face had been pierced by something that felt like wire.   

“Aw, shit. You alright there, champ? I’m fuckin’ sorry. I didn’t mean to whack ya’ so hard on the first round but, you did run smack into it, so you’re partly to blame.” A voice said from above him. Tears swallowed up his eyesight for a moment as a pained sob escaped his lips before he could fully see who was standing there. His face was hidden in shadows, but his outline was crisp against the lamppost light from the other end of the alley. 

He had a baseball bat in his hands. A bat, upon further inspection, which had barbed wire wrapped around it. 

Thomas knelt there, hands still covering his face. 

“Now, look, I wanted to do this a more…” the man waved his hand around, trying to look for a word, “ _civil_ fuckin’ matter. But you, _you,”_ he bent down, crouching in front of his victim, “you really forced my hand there Thomas.” 

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” The farm hand groaned, his words slurring together through a mixture of pain and booze.

“And there you go, lying to me.” A hand gripped the back of his hair, ripping his scalp as he was forced to meet the other’s expression. 

It was dreadfully still, eyes red-rimmed in anger, boiling rage fuming underneath a papery facade of friendliness. 

“What do you want?” Thomas wheezed, unable to breathe through his nose. His voice was pinched in fear. 

“You touched what’s mine, Tommy, and I can’t let that shit fly. And for that, you gotta pay.” 

“W-Whatever you want, man! Take my wallet, whatever! Just leave me the fuck alone!” 

The mustache guy standing behind Thomas laughed. 

“Money ain’t gonna cut it, I’m afraid. See, I’m the new world order around here. And you gotta learn not to touch what isn’t your’s.” 

He still didn’t know what this psycho was on about. 

“I can see you’re having a hard time understanding me.” The guy stood to his full height, towering over him. “So,” he gripped the handle of the bat, “I guess I just gotta beat it into you.” 

“ _P-Please don’t.”_ Thomas whispered, body shaking, as he stared up at the other. 

“Begging isn’t going to help you now, sport. But just remember this when you wake up- if you ever do,” the man rose the bat above his head, “ _you’re never going to fuckin’ touch Rick Grimes again.”_

 

 

 

~~~~~

 

“He didn’t have any enemies?” 

“Not that I’m aware of.” 

The sink kept dripping. One of the kids must have forgotten to turn it off all the way. Probably Carl, he couldn’t- 

“What about from when he was homeless? He could have certainly met some bad characters then. Any of them know where he was?” 

“I wouldn’t know. He never talked about any of the people or friends he had while he was homeless.” 

Morgan shifted in his seat, the notepad in his hands was splattered with blue ink. He had really horrible handwriting. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Rick asked, staring out the living room window. The cop car in their driveway had been a usual sight up until they moved here. 

“Fractured his skull in multiple places. Broken ribs, broken fingers, he’ll need reconstructive surgery on his face. Whoever did this to him didn’t want to kill him-“

“Just wanted him to think they were going to.” Rick finished bitterly. 

Morgan gave a sad nod, “But he’ll live. He’s in induced coma right now. The doc’s think that’ll help with the swelling. Can’t say what he’ll do afterward though. You know he can’t come back here and work.” 

“And I wouldn’t want him to.” Rick said, skimming his knuckles against his lips, deep in thought. Who would want to attack Thomas? The man was easy going, funny, polite- there was no cause it seemed. 

“You know, there’s always a place open for you down at the precinct. Couldn’t tell you enough how much it would help us out to have someone like you back on the force.” 

Morgan had tried to convince Rick to rejoin after hearing about his previous experience down in Georgia. He had considered it for a while but ultimately decided against it. Bringing that up now seemed insensitive and that was odd coming from Morgan. 

“I know,” Rick turned his attention back, “but I’ll pass. I’m too far into this farming thing now to do anything else.” 

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Morgan smiled before standing up. Rick stood with him. 

“We’ll find them, I promise. Whoever did this to Thomas will get what’s coming to them. But for now, if you think of _anything_ or hear anything suspicious-“ 

“I’ll call you.” 

He walked the other out to his cruiser and watched as the dust shimmered into the indigo air as he drove off. The full moon had been last night. 

Rick allowed himself to stand out there for a couple minutes more, stuck in place. He had been woken up the other night by a frantic phone call from the E.R. talking about how someone had found Thomas beaten within an inch of his life. 

He was alive but…well, bouncing back from head fractures wasn’t really an easy feat.  

Rick swallowed thickly, then swallowed again, until he realized he was beginning to tear up. Vigorously scrubbing a hand over his eyes, he banished the tears away and cleared his throat. ‘ _No need to get upset’_ he told himself, cursing his moment of weakness. 

When he returned to the house, Carl was waiting down in the kitchen. He was picking at the frayed ends of a random PopTart box on the counter. A nervous habit. Rick had it too. And apparently Judith, if the back seat cover was anything to go on. 

“He’s going to be okay.” He told him, trying to comfort the younger. “He’ll be released in a little bit. We can go visit him this week if you want.” 

Carl kept picking.


	4. Chapter 4

“It’s just baseball. Calm down.” 

What would Glenn know? It wasn’t _his_ daughter running off into a field chalk full of tiny children all wearing flamboyant colored jerseys. 

“I have the right to worry.” He groused, twisting the wedding ring on his finger. Glenn glanced at him. “She’ll be fine. Did you see how excited she was? Ever since she started watching games with you on T.V. she’s been obsessed- let her enjoy it.” 

He probably shouldn’t have let her watch, now that Rick thinks about it. Her mind was easily imprinted on. 

“And knowing her, by the time you come back she’ll have made friends with the whole team.” 

Rick felt his palms begin to sweat again. “Now, are you going to come to the restaurant, or not?” 

Glenn spun, facing back towards the parking lot. All of the other parents seemed to have no problem leaving their kids at the YMCA baseball camp. 

Rick was having a hard time even letting his eyes drift away from Judith. 

How did these people let go so easily? 

“ _Rick.”_

He swallowed, “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.” As he turned to go back to the parking lot, he sent one last glance over his shoulder. 

Judith was giggling with a bunch of other girls. 

His heart gave a little dance. 

She’d be fine. 

 

 

~~~~~

 

“Tell me again why I’m doing this?” 

“It’s free food.” 

“I understand that. But, why me?” 

“Look,” Maggie placed a firm hand on her hip, looking down at him, “you don’t exactly have the most refined palette. We can agree on that, right?” 

Rick nodded, still giving her a questioning look. 

“So, we need someone like you to test these new dishes out. We need someone who has an ‘everyman's’ palette.” 

“I’m not sure I even have a palette,” he admitted, “you know I’ll literally eat anythang'.” 

Maggie sighed, running a hand through her short brown hair. 

“Just amuse us then, alright?” 

The place wasn’t open yet. It was still early in the morning and ‘Moulin Rouge’ didn’t serve breakfast- they could afford to be one of those places. 

Cool-colored tones of maroons, cremes, and soft beige adored the interior, giving the dining room a calming effect. According to Maggie, the more relaxed you were, the more likely you were to eat. 

Rick couldn’t really stomach anything at the moment, thinking of his darling daughter at baseball practice. 

Glenn poured both of them some water. 

“Just try and enjoy this? And stop worrying so much, no wonder your hair is turning gray.” 

Rick sputtered, “It’s _not_ turning gray.” 

Glenn reached over and playfully tugged on a strand of hair near his temple. “I beg to differ.” 

Rick batted his hand away and muttered curses under his breath. 

“Okay, first up,” Maggie said, returning with a plate full of rice, fish, and some other garnishes. She explained everything but honestly, Rick barely understood half of what she said. 

How they had managed to convince him to spend the morning doing this, he couldn’t remember. 

“They said she’d be able to skip second grade and go straight into third.” Rick said a little while later, five plates in of new dishes for the menu.  

“That’s great news! Beth always raves about how smart she is in class.” Glenn exclaimed. 

“I know I should be proud but…” Rick shook his head, “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like a good idea. She’ll be in a class with kids older than her. I don’t want them to pick on Judith just because of her age.” 

“Rick, I don’t know if you’ve caught onto this yet. But,” Glenn sighed, “your daughter has inherited almost all of your charisma. Everywhere you take her, people love her. I think she’d be fine.” 

“I haven’t said whether or not we’ll do it yet. I have until the middle of Summer.” 

“You’ve got plenty of time then.” 

He wasn’t so sure about that. 

“Have you gone and seen Thomas in the hospital?” Maggie asked, setting down the next dish, scooting it over the table.

“Yeah, Carl and I went last week. He’s still really busted up.” 

“Morgan say anything about catching the guy?” 

“No. They’re still looking.” 

“There’s not that many people in town,” Glenn lamented, “it can’t be that hard, right?” 

Rick shrugged, cutting into the slice of steak. “I wouldn’t be so quick to judge. Small towns like Whitefish can be just as hard as big cities.” 

The steak melted in his mouth and he told Maggie exactly that. She beamed at the news.

“Did Morgan come and speak to you guys?” 

Glenn nodded, “Yeah. We told him about some of the people Thomas mentioned before- back when he lived on the streets. That, and about the trouble he got into when he was younger but we couldn’t really help beyond that.” 

Rick’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion. 

“Trouble? What trouble? He never said anything to me.” 

Maggie tilted her head slightly, “Really? That’s practically common knowledge around here. Back when he was homeless…well,” she stopped herself, “I’m not too sure I’m at liberty to say. It was never really proven, after all. But everyone had their suspicions.” 

“He liked you a lot though. I can see why he wouldn’t want to tell you about the-“ 

Suddenly the front door to the restaurant swung open, startling all three of them. Beth skipped in. 

“Maggie, you would not believe the day I’ve had! I swear the parents are worse than the kids! Can you-“ she stopped short upon seeing Rick. Instantly her cheeks colored in embarrassment. After all, she had just been ranting about her student’s parents. 

Judith was one of her students. 

Rick was one of the parents.   
“I-I wasn’t-“ she sputtered before Rick held up a hand, signaling her to stop. “It’s fine, Beth. You’re not offending anyone.” he chuckled. 

She sighed, setting down her teaching bag in the booth next to Glenn. “To be honest, it really isn’t anything aimed at you. But the end of the year teacher conferences are horrible.” 

He hummed, “Our’s is next week, isn’t it?” 

She nodded, reaching over to pour herself a tall glass of water. “I’m not worried about our meeting in the least. Judith is our best student, hence her skipping a grade and all.”

Pride swelled up in Rick’s chest.

“But some of the other parents; it’s like they’re worse than their children. So rude and abrasive, I don’t understand.” 

“That’s people for ya’.” Maggie said, smoothing over her sister’s golden hair. 

Rick glanced at his watch and cursed, “Shit. I’m going to be late picking up Judith.” 

He stood up, setting his napkin down. “But you haven’t tried everything yet!” Glenn frowned. 

“Have Beth do it, I’m sure she’ll be fine.” he winked at the teacher before grabbing his jacket near the front door. “I’ll see you guys later!” he called before walking out of the restaurant. 

Smoky air instantly invaded his lungs. Looking up, he saw the bloody outline of the sun against the gray sky. 

There had to be a forest fire nearby. 

That and- 

A shriek of thunder made the air thicken with static. 

How had he not noticed the brewing storm outside? 

Judging by the horrid colors the sky was turning, the thunder storm was probably the cause for the fire. Lightening struck trees around Montana all the time. 

But his mind was instantly turned towards Judith and wanting to get her back to the house before it settled in. 

Rushing to get to his truck, he started it up and headed for the baseball field on the outskirts of town. 

Sure enough, when he got there, loads of kids were being ushered frantically into cars to try and escape the impending rain. 

He marched across the field, checked in with one of the coaches and picked up Judith who’s blonde hair was wild with curls. 

Her braids, that Rick had managed to put her hair in, had come undone. 

“Alright, honey. We got-“ he reached down to pick her up when a sudden gust of wind swept up, knocking him forward, almost tipping into the ground. Some other girl let out a wail as her bag went skipping across the grass. Dust blew up, kicking up rocks, and more thunder clapped in its descent. 

This was for sure the monster that caused the nearby fire. 

“Papa?” Judith asked, reaching up to grip the front of his shirt as he tried to find his footing again. Not good. 

Not good at all. 

There was no way he could make it back onto the highway with this kind of weather. “Come on, Jud.” he said, muscles tensing as anxiety washed over him. 

Where could they go?

The school was too far away and so was the restaurant. He picked up his daughter and her things and took off back to the parking lot. 

Pinpricks of light sizzled his nerves as he spotted bolts of lightening lapping at the clouds, striking down like weighted columns from the sky. 

Big thunderstorm. 

_Too big._

They got in the car, Rick scrambling to buckle Judith in. She must have recognized the urgency in his face and frowned, lips quivering. “Papa? What’s going on?” 

“Nothing, sweetheart. Just a storm. We’re going to have to camp out somewhere for a little bit.” he said, driving back towards the main street. Dale’s shop would still be open. 

They parked out front just as a wall of dust washed through Whitefish, making it hard to even see what was in front of them. 

Rick coughed brutally, making his chest ache in discomfort. Judith kicked her legs out as he got her out of the truck, slamming the door shut. 

“Dale?” he shouted over the whirling sound of wind, blinking rapidly to try and see the curb and sidewalk. He splayed his hand out against the wind, trying to block his eyes from the dust. 

He carefully made his way over and when he tried to pull the door open, he found it locked. “Shit!” he cursed loudly, turning back. There was the bank across the way. Or maybe even- 

“That you Grimes?” a voice shouted and he whipped around to see Negan holding open the front door to his shop. 

“The fuck you doin’ out here? Get your ass inside!” he waved and without taking a second thought, Rick dove into the grocery. Anything to get his child out of this storm. 

The metal shades on the windows rattled, causing a horrible booming tin sound to echo in the empty store. Negan relocked the front door and pulled down the last shade. 

“Goddamn, it’s getting bad out there.” he breathed, brushing some hair out of his face. Rick set Judith down on the tile floor but she didn’t seem too keen on letting go of his leg. 

“It’s defiantly making out to be the worst one we’ve had in a long time.” Rick with a nod, finally relaxing now that they were inside. 

Rain started to pelt the pavement outside and soon after, the monstrous thunder joined in, crash and clapping above the roof. Judith let out a whimper and pressed her tiny body into Rick’s thigh. 

“Hon, it’s alright. It’s just-“ Rick tried to comfort her before another round of thunder went off. Christ, it did sound pretty bad. 

The rain was coming down in thick wet sheets and hail would be getting here soon, with no doubt. 

“ _Papa_.” Judith whined, pressing herself even more against his legs. 

“What in the hell were you two doing out there?” Negan asked, a small hint of anger nipping at his voice. 

It made Rick’s irritation flare up. 

“What do you think we were doing? Trying to get out of the storm!” he snapped. 

“By what? Standing on the sidewalk?” 

They were facing each other now, much too close to be considered appropriate, but they were long past caring by now. Shouting at each other seemed to be the main focus. 

“We were trying to get into Dale’s and-“ 

“Dale left early today.” 

Rick swallowed down his rising anger. “Yes, I got that when the door to the shop wouldn’t open.” 

Negan settled back, his lips pressed into a worried line that separated his expression of concern. 

Actual _concern._

Was he even capable of feeling such a thing? 

“You can stay here until this blows over.” he said finally.

“That might be a while.” 

“You got anything going for ya’?” 

Rick flexed his hands by his sides. 

“No.” 

“Then shut the hell up and just accept the offer.” 

He did. 

Negan lead them to the back of the store, away from the windows which were still making a ruckus from the metal shutters knocking against them. 

He gave Judith some more chocolate buttons to munch on while he excused himself for a moment. Probably to go check on the other windows in the store. 

The Grimes sat in a back room that was meant as a break area for employees. But seeing as there were currently only two, it wasn’t used as such. 

Rick sighed as he slouched in one of the chairs, his neck pressing against the metal back rest. It was a lax position that made his long legs stick out lazily, but in the moment, he could care less. He just needed a moment to try and de-stress. 

Glancing over at Judith she smiled warmly at him. “You feeling better?” he murmured and she nodded, kicking her feet beneath the table. 

“Kinda scary outside right now, huh?” 

She nodded. 

He turned to stare up at the ceiling. “You have a good time at baseball practice?” 

“Yeah! I made a lot of new friends!” 

He cracked a smile, letting his eyes slip shut. From here the rain almost sounded pleasant. “Uncle Glenn thought you would.” 

“And coach Williams is really nice. She made a lot of funny jokes.” 

“She seemed nice.” 

There was a pause before Judith quietly asked. “When is the storm going to stop, papa?” 

“I don’t know. It could be a while. But we’re safe in here, don’t worry.” 

“Is Negan going to protect us?” 

The question was so jarring Rick’s eyes snapped open. 

“ _What?”_

She hesitated to say the question again, seeing her father’s reaction. 

“Negan, he’s going to protect us… right?” 

Rick lifted his head and peered at her from across the faded white table top. The two of them stared at each other in a mixture of confusion and shock. 

Judith couldn’t understand why her dad was reacting in such a way. 

Rick couldn’t understand why she suddenly thought Negan was doing a better job than he was at protecting her. 

“Why do you think Negan is going to protect us?” 

“B-Because he helped us.” 

“Just because someone helps you doesn’t mean-“ 

“Wolves.” 

Rick blinked once. Twice. Thrice. 

“ _What?”_ he found himself asking again, growing increasingly worried about how this conversation was going. 

“Wolves. Ms. Green taught us about wolves the other day. She said that when wolves like each other, they protect each other. Like a daddy wolf protects a mommy wolf.” 

Rick stared down at her, his eyebrows bunched together in such utter confusion that he almost started to think this was some sort of weird dream. 

“Negan protected us from the storm, right? That must mean he likes us- that he’ll protect us again.” 

Having his daughter say it made it real. 

Rick didn’t want that to be real. 

And _Christ,_ no wonder they wanted her to skip second grade- she was too smart for her own damn good. 

“I…” Rick shook his head, really unable to say anything back to that. It was so…innocent and it made sense. Of course, his six-year-old daughter would think that way. She was a kid. 

The fact that it seemed to close to reality was what really scared him. 

Rick opened his mouth to continue when suddenly the door to the room swung open and stopped him in his tracks. “Here we go! Fresh green tea for Mr. Grimes, and strawberry milk for our little princess here.” Negan grinned setting down the two mugs in front of them. 

_Green tea._

“Why green tea?” Rick found himself asking instead, taking the cup. It had cream and sugar in it. 

How- 

“Is that not what you like? Your kid said that’s the only thing you like drinking.” 

Why did Carl tell him that?

Rick swallowed. 

“Thanks.” 

“It’s pink!” Judith cried, looking into the porcelain cup, practically vibrating in her seat. 

“Of course it’s pink!” Negan said, “It’s got strawberries in it.”

Judith’s face scrunched up. “It has strawberries in it?” 

“Yeah? Haven’t you ever had strawberry milk?” 

She shook her head. 

“Well, _shit_ Grimes! You’ve been depriving this little thing of strawberry milk? Maybe you’re not as perfect as I thought you were.” 

He thought Rick was perfect? 

Judith took a tentative sip and lit up. “It tastes good!” 

Negan laughed as Rick grumbled something into the rim of his own cup. The older man took a seat right next to him at the table. “The weather station said it might be a bit. It’s coming down from the border.” 

Figures. 

“It hailing outside?” 

“Yeah,” Negan said, “it’s been like that for a while.” He leaned and suddenly his right arm was stretching across the back of Rick’s chair. 

He leaned closer. 

Judith looked at both of them. Her thoughts certainly didn’t go without evidence. 

Evidence that was sitting right _there._

“What sport are you playing?” Negan asked, nodding towards Judith’s green jersey. 

“Baseball!” 

“Baseball, huh? You need help practicing?” He grinned, “I played baseball for a long time.” 

“You did?” Her blue eyes were large with naive awe. 

It only fed Negan’s narcism. “You bet I did.” 

“Could you show me how to throw a ball? Coach Williams said I need a lot of practice.” 

“Sure. That is, if your dad will let me.” 

“Oh, please, papa! Can Negan help?” she begged and Rick deflated. He wanted to say no. Really he did. 

But who could say no to Judith Grimes? 

“Alright.” 

“Yeah?” Negan seemed to perk up at the news. His hand that had been on the back of the chair came up and patted Rick’s back and stayed there. 

It was a weight pressing into him- making his spine bend into it. 

His skin burned where they touched. 

“What-“ he was in the middle of saying again when suddenly the room was cast into absolute darkness. 

Judith yet out a little cry in surprise and Rick instantly seized up. 

“Well, fuckin’ shit. The power’s out.” Negan said plainly. 

“Papa?” Judith whimpered as Rick’s eyes tried to adjust to the sudden darkness. 

“It’s alright. Just calm down.” he said, jolting up and cursing when one of his knees snapped against the table edge. 

“Don’t move.” Negan said, stopping him as his hand came up to grab the back of Rick’s neck. It was wholly possessive and commanding. 

Rick used to do the same thing with Laurie before she died. He’d seen couples like Glenn and Maggie do the same thing. 

A hand at the base of the back of the neck was a clear sign. 

And the gesture went straight to Rick’s gut. 

Something stirred in him that hadn’t in a long time. 

He listened to the command instantly, freezing where he was. 

“Don’t want you tripping over anything in here.” Negan said. 

There was the sound of cloth and then a phone flashlight was being turned towards his face. 

He blinked owlishly. 

The lights were coming back on. 

“The backup generator isn’t working?” Rick asked and Negan gave him an odd look. 

“The backup generator,” Rick said a bit slower, “you know about that, right?” 

Negan looked like he wanted to snap out a resounding ‘Yes’ but didn’t. 

“I don’t.” 

“The store should have one. They install one in case stuff like this happens. Then all of the food doesn’t get ruined.” 

“They never told me anything about it.” 

“They probably thought you knew.” 

“Fuckin’ assholes.” Negan muttered under his breath. 

“Where’s the generator room?” 

“Down in the back behind the freezers.” 

Rick nodded, “I’ll go take a look.” 

He paused, however, thinking back to Judith. Negan noticed. “Don’t be such a fuckin’ papa bear. She’s fine with me.” 

A couple of weeks ago Rick wouldn’t have trusted him. But since Carl started to work here things had changed. 

He pressed his lips together. “I’ll be back soon.” 

Flipping on his own cell phone light, he listened to Negan’s instructions to the back hallway and followed the cement floor to a ratty door with a restricted sign on it. 

That had to be it. 

Shoving it open, he spotted the sputtering main generator which sounded like it was still trying to churn out some source of energy for the lights. 

Rick found the switch it and flicked it off. Both couldn’t be running at the same time. 

The backup generator was around the corner and when he approached it, he groaned at the sight. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in fifty years. Huge and wiry spider webs covered the thing and the rusted metal along the sides just screamed ‘tetanus shot!’. 

The farmer set his phone along side it and set to work brushing away the webs. Faded instructions were beyond reading at this point and were of no help. 

But Rick had been dealing with backup generators for a while now and figured he could work this one out. 

Sure enough, about ten minutes later he was starting to see signs of life as the inside of the generator started to whirl to life. 

“Finally.” 

 

“You get it to work?” Negan’s voice suddenly asked from behind him. 

“Fuck!” Rick cursed, whipping around. 

The other grinned down at him. 

“You can’t just walk up on me like that.” 

“ _Jesus,_ sorry.” 

Negan’s eyes were an odd color in the low light. Impossibly dark. 

Neither of them moved from where they were. 

Rick was still bent on his knees on the floor and Negan stood in front of him. 

Seeming to sense the dynamic of their positions, Negan let out a low breath. His eyes became lidded. “I gotta say Grimes, you look fuckin’ beautiful on your knees.” 

Rick was so shocked by the blunt statement, he was unable to change from his position. Negan bent slightly, bringing their faces closer. “You like being on your knees? Because I’d really fuckin’ love it if you stayed like that for me.” 

Only the lights flickering back on were Rick’s saving grace. They shoved him out of the head space he had been in. His body instantly moved to standing. 

Negan frowned for a split second before turning away to shut off his phone light. He left before Rick did. 

In the background the freezers started to blow cold air again. 

Finding the break room in the light was a lot harder than expected but he managed to do it. 

When Rick pushed open the door, he found Judith sitting on Negan’s knee as they both scanned his phone screen. 

The sound of tiny little angry birds met Rick’s ears. 

Judith didn’t look up from the game but Negan did and grinned ear to ear, acting like nothing had just happened. 

Rick cleared his throat, “It won’t last forever. But it should tide you over until the storm passes through. Then you can switch back on the original. But, ah, I recommend getting a newer back-up.” he hooked his thumb towards the door. “The one downstairs is pretty ancient. ‘Have no idea how it hasn’t fallen apart yet.” 

Negan didn’t say anything but continued to stare at him. 

They locked eyes. 

Negan’s face was incredibly tan for someone who supposedly worked inside all day. 

On those days when Rick had come to pick Carl up, he had spied the other’s strong, and very tan forearms as he leaned against the front counter. There was a tattoo on the bottom of his left forearm, but Rick could never see what it was. The most he could make out was elegant writing. 

He quickly sat at the table again to keep himself from doing anything stupid. 

Negan shifted Judith in his lap so that he could face forward. 

Silence stretched between them 

In this moment, he had time to reflect on the moment that had happened earlier. That spot on the back of his neck still burned as if just touched there. 

The real problem wasn’t that Negan had done it (though perhaps that was something to panic about later), but the real issue was with Rick himself. 

He had _listened._

Negan told him to stay and he just _did it._ His body had thrummed with hearing the command, stirring something buried inside of him. And when they had been alone together in the generator room… 

A painful part of his chest shifted. Because while he would like to deny it all the way to his grave, the fact of the matter was that he had gone against his own words. 

_The day I start listening to you is the day Hell freezes over._

“You doin’ alright up there at that farm of your’s?” Negan asked, calling for his attention. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t-“ 

“I heard about what happened to that farm hand,” Negan continued, “didn’t know how much that affected you.” 

Rick didn’t want to look at him. “It does, but it’s nothing I can’t manage.” his expression turned sour. “I just wish Morgan would find the bastard who did it.” 

Negan hummed in response, shifting Judith on his knee again. 

“You know him super long?” 

“Thomas has worked for us for years.” 

“Then you two were close?” 

Their eyes locked again. 

Slowly, Rick shook his head, “I wouldn’t say that. We’re friends, yeah. But Tom he, ah. Well, he was homeless for a long time. I think that made it hard for him to open up to people. He never really shared anything personal about himself except for surface level stuff- small things.” 

Negan nodded, but didn’t say anything in return. 

Rick shot him a questioning look because _why was he asking about how close he and Thomas were?_

But Negan didn’t seem to care about giving any answers. “You ever heard of an unreliable narrator?” he questioned instead. 

“A what?” 

“A fuckin’ unreliable narrator.” 

“No? But I can guess what it is by the name of it.” 

What the hell was this about? 

“It’s a literature term. You should look it up when you get home.” 

Rick stared at him. “Why would-“ 

Judith suddenly sprang up, exclaiming about something she was doing on the phone, and Negan had to quickly grab the back of her jersey to keep her from falling. “Damn, you’re just a jumping jahooli bean, aren’t you?” he teased, and she giggled. 

Traitor. 

 

_~~~_

 

The storm finally passed an hour and a half later. A forest fire had indeed broken out near the border but it wasn’t close enough to worry anyone in Whitefish. The weather channel kept warning people about the damage and when they got outside, Rick became ashen with the sight of his truck. Hundreds, if not thousands of dents riddled the frame from the amount of hail it had taken. It wasn’t a new truck but he liked to keep his belongings in good condition. 

Negan let out a whistle. “Shit, Grimes. That fuckin’ _sucks.”_

“Just my luck,” Rick grumbled under his breath before moving to put Judith in the back seat. “Thank you for letting us crash in your store,” he said, sticking out his hand for Negan to shake. The older man looked at it for a moment before repeating the gesture. “My pleasure.” he grinned and Rick inwardly sighed. 

They could never really have a normal conversation, could they? 

His thoughts were still caught up with what Negan asked him. 

Unreliable narrator. 

Why was that important? 

He walked around the back of the truck. 

Suddenly a hand was gripping the back of his neck again and Rick felt his breath sucker punched out of his chest. 

They stood on the far side, in the blind corner of the truck. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice your little reaction before.” Negan said softly, voice gravely as he tried to stay quiet. There was pure mirth in his voice and it was the kind that reminded Rick of that same old analogy of a bunny caught in a bear trap. 

It was pretty obvious who the bunny was. 

“You act all tough in front of these people, Rick. But I see right fuckin’ through you.” his laugh was like listening to a 40’s jazz singer that smoked too much and had sex rolling off his tongue. 

“It’s always the prideful ones, isn’t it? They put on a big fuckin’ show of being tough shit but in reality, they’re the first to get on their knees. And, darlin’,” his grin sizzled against Rick’s skin, “I can’t wait to get you on your knees and beggin’ for me.” 

Rick ripped himself away, face impossibly red. His breath was short and heated. How he ever thought Negan was just a normal guy with a rough exterior but was secretly soft inside was beyond him. It was obvious that he was a lunatic. 

Not wanting to say a word, fearing it would only add fuel to the fire, he got into the truck, slammed the door shut, and started back towards the farm. 

In the rear-view mirror he could see Negan standing on the street, staring after them. 

His chest sucker-punched him again. 

 

~~~~~ 

 

The call came in at 7:57 P.M. on the same evening while Rick is giving Judith a bath. 

“Baby girl, would you please hold _still?”_ She never does, of course. He’s sure she derives some sick pleasure of watching him scramble to keep the bathroom floor at least relatively dry while also trying to dump enough shampoo in her hair so that she doesn’t develop dreadlocks at some point. 

He was partially to blame though. 

After all, she had gotten the curls from _him_ , not Lori. 

“Dad! The phone’s ringing!” Carl called from downstairs. 

“Then answer it!” Rick yelled back. 

The sound of the T.V. muted. 

“But I’m in the middle of a match! I can’t-“ 

“CARL!”

“Alright, alright!” 

He heard the teen scramble off the couch and head into the kitchen to answer the house phone. Why they had one, Rick wasn’t entirely sure. 

Both he and Carl had cell phones and just about every call they got on the landline was some scammer. 

The last one had tried to sell him tickets to a strip show in Las Vegas. 

“Papa, why is your hair so gray?” Judith reached up and yanked on a piece of his beard which instantly made his eyes water. 

Goddamn that girl had some hidden strength. 

“Jud!” he yelled, pushing her hand away. “You can’t do that. It hurts papa.” 

“Why?” 

“If I pulled on your hair, it would hurt too, right?” 

“But there’s no hair on my face.” She looked at him suspiciously, like he was trying to lie. 

“No. But it’s the same feeling.” 

 _There wasn’t that much gray in his hair._ Only a little bit. He wasn’t old. _He wasn’t._

“Dad?” Carl’s voice was suddenly directly behind him and he jumped, knocking one of his knees into the side of the tub. Holding back curses, he turned, hair wet, and snarled, “ _What?”_

The expression his kid’s face made his anger dissipate. 

“It’s…ah,” he held the phone out, fingers tight around the body of the phone. “it’s for you.” he finished lamely. 

Rick, concerned by the reaction, stood and motioned, “Help her out, would ya’?” 

He quickly padded into the hallway and pressed the phone to his ear. 

“Hello?” 

“Hello! This call will be monitored and recorded for legal purposes. You have a collect call from an inmate at _Georgia State Prison,”_ Rick was so caught off guard by the recorded voice that at first, he didn’t fully understand what it was saying. But then it said prison and-

“to accept this call, please press pound. If you would like to disregard the call, please hang up.” 

_Hang up._

_Hang up._

_Hang up._

**_Hang the_ ** **_fuck_ ** **_up._ **

Rick stood in the hallway, eyes wide and body rigid. 

_How did he get this phone number?_

“We’re sorry, you have not completed an action. This phone call will now connect.” 

That was enough to light a fire under his ass. 

His wet fingers slipped on the dial pad. 

“ **Rick, is that you?** ” a voice suddenly asked on the other side of the line. The smooth southern accent made his hand start to shake uncontrollably. 

He pulled the phone away and finally hit the end button. 

Stumbling, his shoulder hit the side of the wall, rattling some of the pictures hanging up. He stared down at the phone. 

_How…?_

“Dad?” Carl appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, Judith dried off and in her PJ’s. “Everything okay?” 

_He asked that a lot._

Rick harshly cleared his throat and nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine. Just a wrong number.” 

“Dad, it wasn’t-“ 

“It’s _fine.”_ Rick snapped, pushing past the two and heading into his bedroom. 

The moment his door shut, he allowed himself to fall onto the squeaky twin bed. 

Evening light filtered in through the open curtains, promising night soon. 

His hand wouldn’t stop shaking. 

He tried grabbing it, actually physically forcing it to still but it was no use. Feeling rather shell-shocked by the phone call, he threw the machine onto the floor, not caring about the sound it made. 

He had never wanted to hear that voice again in his entire life. 

The fact that he had their new phone number only made him that much more suspicious. How did he get it? 

Legally, he knew there were actions to be taken, especially with the no-contact order. He’d have to call the lawyer and…and…and this was fucking stupid. 

It was a _phone call_ for God’s sake. Nothing more. 

If anything, he was just probably trying to scare them. 

Rick bent down, rubbing his forehead with his hands. His curly hair was still wet from giving Judith a bath. 

Sometimes he wonders about the man on the other side of the phone. Sometimes he wonders what could have happened, or what _would have_ happened if certain people or certain things hadn’t appeared to them that night. 

Rick wonders if he’d be sitting here today if Carl didn’t know how to operate a gun. 

And the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that- yes- he probably wouldn’t be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all ~~ 
> 
> Hope you liked the next chapter! Reading your comments has really fueled me to write more- I love it! Thanks for all of the feed back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all ~~~ 
> 
> Thank you SO SO SO much for all of your lovely messages and kudos! I know it's been a while since I've posted. Sorry about that! Anyways, I tried posting a longer chapter to make up for it. Hope you like it! 
> 
> As always, keep those comments coming! I love to read them!

“When’s the date?” 

Silence. 

“Rick, honey?” 

He looked up from his notebook, staring across the counter at Claire. Her soft white wispy hair was curled into large barrels that framed her winkled face. 

That same face that peered at him now. 

“What?” he asked. 

“Oh, come now,” she huffed like he had denied some big truth, “don’t act koi with me. You’re not fooling anyone around here.” 

Fooling anyone? 

Who would he be trying to fool? 

When he didn’t respond she leaned further, her bright purple purse squishing between her chest and the counter. “You can tell me. I swear not to tell another breathing soul.” 

Claire liked Rick; had since the first time they met. 

She lived in a retirement home on the outskirts of town. It was a large faculty that hosted only the rich. Rick had driven by it a couple of times to know that the security gate at the front, combined with a resort sized pool outback meant that big money lived there. 

Apparently Claire’s husband used to be an investor and when he passed a number of years ago, he left everything to her. 

She was a stereotypical southern-grandma without the accent and perhaps that’s why she had taken such a liking to Rick. 

She said he reminded her of her late husband. 

Rick wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about.” he tried, giving a confused smile. 

The older woman rolled her eyes, sputtering, “Your date with Negan, _of course.”_

**Of course?**

No, not of course! Never _‘of course’!_

Those words shouldn’t belong in the same sentence as Negan’s and his names. 

“We’re not going on a date.” he said plainly. 

Claire didn’t seem to like this. 

“You’re not?” 

“No! What gave you that idea?” 

“Well, I was just talking to some of the other girls from the home. They said they saw him at your house the other day and they’re all convinced you two are getting it on.” 

He flushed and leaned closer to her. “Of course we’re not! He was over because he’s teaching Judith how to play baseball.” 

He’d been doing that for about two weeks now. His presence was now accustomed in the Grimes’ house. 

It unnerved Rick. 

She waved a dismissive hand at him, “Don’t be so shy. It’s clear to see he’s head over heels for ya’. Why don’t you give him a chance?” 

Rick eyed her wearily. 

She was one of them. 

‘One of them’ meaning that she was one of the old ladies that Negan had managed to charm into liking him, rooting for him even. 

Rick thought Claire was stronger than that. 

He was put-off to know that she wasn’t. 

“We’re not even friends. So you can tell your knitting circle there’s nothing to gossip about.” 

She pursed her lips. “We don’t gossip.” 

He leveled her a look. 

“You two would be so good together. Both handsome, strong men- why wouldn’t you want to try that out? It’s not like buying stock, Rick. You can try it out and if it doesn’t fit, you can always give it back.” 

He shook his head because, no, it wasn’t like that at all. Inviting Negan in would be like getting a tattoo and then wanting to scrub it off. Impossible. 

“Don’t you have better things to do?” he groaned softly, pushing some hair away from his forehead. 

She smirked, “Yes. But nothing nearly as fun as this.” 

 

~~~~~

 

“Careful, careful! No, don’t- Jud! _Judith_! Watch-“ Rick hollered as steaming water was suddenly poured all over his hands. He cried out in pain, whipping his hands back, skin instantly turning an angry shade of red. 

“Papa!”

“Dad?” 

Carl slammed the back door open right as his father rushed to turn the cold water on. 

“What’s going on?” 

Rick shook his head as Judith started to bubble with tears. 

“I hurt papa!” she wailed and Carl was instantly at his side, looking into the sink were the strainer full of soften spaghetti was oozing. 

The phone started ringing. 

“Dad, you alright?” 

Rick nodded his head vigorously, squeezing his eyes shut. “Can you get that?” 

“Papa, I’m so sorry!” Judith was hugging his hip, pressing her face into his side. He could feel tears staining his shirt. 

“Carl, the phone.” 

It kept ringing. 

And _ringing._

“But what about your hand?” 

“It’s fine-“ 

Ring. 

“Do I need-“ 

Ring. 

“Get the phone.” 

“Papa, I’m sorry!”

Ring. 

“Jud, it’s fine. Just-“ 

“There’s a-“ 

“Carl, GODDAMN IT! Get the phone!” Rick finally snapped, startling both of the kids. His son stared at him for a second before marching across the kitchen to grab the phone off the hook. 

Judith cried some more. 

When Carl came home from work that afternoon, he had a small package wrapped up in some tissue. “Here.” he grumbled, shoving it at his father. 

When he unwrapped it, a small note fell out. 

_Heard about your little cooking accident. Shit luck, Grimes. Figured you’d know how to cook at this stage in your life._

Inside the box there were different treatments for burns, a couple of cooling packs, some bandages, and some chocolate. 

Rick used all of it. 

 

 

_~~~~~_

 

Rick stared up at him, though he didn’t have to crane his head much. An inch or two _at most_ was all Negan had on him. 

“I’m here for baseball practice!” 

It was a Wednesday afternoon. Sunny, like it had been for every week since Negan started showing up in their house to help Judith. A gust of wind came up over the porch and blew against the front of the house. Not that the farmer felt it, Negan’s broad back shielded him from most of it. 

Rick stepped sideways, opening the door a bit more so the older man could step in. The moment Negan crossed the threshold, his shoulders visibly relaxed; his corded shoulders shifting underneath all that leather that he insisted on wearing despite the heat. 

He wore the same thing almost every single day; a mixture of blacks, whites, and reds. Carl swears he wore a flannel shirt to work one day but no one believes him. Trying to imagine it was hard enough. 

Rick slammed the front door closed. 

“Negan!” A bundle of blonde curls came barreling into the living room and latched herself instantly onto their guest’s legs. 

It was the same greeting every time. The two had seemed to click the first day Negan was over. Although he was crude and incredibly inappropriate half the time, he seemed to have enough common sense to realize he couldn’t be himself around Judith- he had to actually take care to curb his natural tendencies. 

That earned him a couple of brownie points at the very least. 

“Hey there cupcake! How’s it going?” he asked, reaching down to pat her back. 

She rested her chin against his stomach as she looked up at him. “Great! I threw a baseball to Carl yesterday! It was really good! Right, papa?” she hinted at Rick who nodded. “Best one yet.” 

Negan grinned wider at the news, if that was even possible. “All that practice is finally paying off. We keep practicing and you’ll be in the majors in no time.” 

She giggled and he scuffed up her hair affectionately. 

Rick swallowed thickly. “Alright, Jud. Go get your practice clothes on.” 

She took off up the stairs. 

“You need anything to drink?” Rick asked, shuffling back into the kitchen, Negan following close behind. 

“Water would be great.” 

Rick nodded, taking out a glass to fill. 

“You renovating in here?” 

It wasn’t that hard to tell, the cabinets were all ripped up, dust settling on the tiled floor as growing piles of stone and other working material gathered by the back door. Carl had tripped over a stack earlier and almost broke his nose against the door frame. 

Rick promised he’d move it. 

“Place was built in the 70’s and hasn’t been updated since,” he said, handing the glass over, “figured I better start now.” 

“You doing all of this by yourself?” Negan quirked an eyebrow. 

“Don’t have anyone else. Thomas is still in the hospital.” 

“Yeah, I heard that. How’s he doing?” 

Rick gave a short shrug. “Not great, not horrible. The swelling in his head has gone down but it’s still pretty bad. Docs saying it’ll probably be another month before they even consider letting him out.” 

Negan didn’t say anything to that. 

It earned him more brownie points. 

“Where’d you learn all of this stuff from?” he asked instead. 

Rick leaned against the front of the sink, the small of his back biting against the cold metal. “Dad, mostly. He built everything.” 

Negan smirked at that. “Can’t say I’m that surprised.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“The Grimes family seem like the salt-of-the-earth kind of people. Building shit seems like it’d be right up your alley.” 

Rick stared at him. 

Negan stared back. 

Neither wanted to look away, that same feeling from before making itself known in the smooth pool of Rick’s stomach. 

He licked his lips and Negan’s eyes intently watched. 

“You been working all day?” he asked. 

“Yeah?” he cleared his throat, “Why-“ 

“You look tired.” 

Rude. But expected. 

“Sit down.” 

Rick didn’t move but something inside jerked at the command. What was he? A lap dog? He wasn’t going to just sit because Negan told him to. 

“I’m fine. You-“ 

“Rick, sit down.” Negan’s voice pressed more, his tone foreign. Rick’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. What in the hell was his problem? 

“What-“ 

“ _Don’t make me repeat myself, Grimes. Sit your pretty ass_ ** _down_** _.”_

The command went straight to his spine, made his skin break out, and soon he found himself sinking into a chair at the dinning table. Negan sat across from him. 

“There you go. Better? You need to learn to take a break.” 

He did feel better. His muscles were aching from all of the hard work of breaking out the counters. It hadn’t been an easy job by himself but he managed. 

He always did. 

Negan’s dark eyes didn’t look away from him as he took a long drink of water. Rick’s gaze flickered to his Adam’s apple as it bobbed down his tan throat. 

“Might have you come down and look at that old generator in the basement some time. Thinking of replacing it.” 

Rick nodded dumbly, feeling totally out of his head. “Yeah, okay.” 

 

~~~~~

 

“Dad! We’re going to be _super_ late!” 

Rick gritted his teeth as he flew through the living room, tugging on his white shirt. Only one poor boot was on and he was scrambling to find the other. 

He had slept in today. 

He never did that. 

_Never._

Not since he was a teenager at least. So when he was awoken to the sound of Carl pounding on his door saying they were going to be _late,_ he was taken aback. 

That was the quickest he had ever gotten out of bed. 

“Get your sister in the truck!” he yelled, bending to look behind the couch for that other _Goddamn_ boot. 

“Dad, I’m missing first period-“

“Your sister-“ 

“Ms. Hennesy is going to kill-“ 

“don’t have time for this-“

“not graduate-“

“ ** _CARL._** _”_ Rick finally shouted, making the teen flinch. “I don’t have time to argue with you! I know we’re late! So help me out here, alright? Get Judith in the truck.” He hissed, voice dripping with demand that couldn’t be threatened. 

Carl’s face scrunched up, like he was thinking about something sour, before muttering, “Your boot is behind bench in the kitchen.” and with that, he was hauling his sister out to the truck. 

Rick sighed, rubbing his forehead. 

Why didn’t he just say that before? 

He watched through the huge living room windows as Carl slammed the car door shut. 

Rick thought these mood swings were suppose to stop after puberty. Apparently he was wrong because Carl clearly still had them. 

Today was going to hell in a hand basket. 

 

~~~~~

 

“I want that green ice cream. That kind that Uncle Daryl likes.” 

“Pistachio?” 

“Yeah, potato!” 

“No, hun, _pistachio.”_

“That’s what I said!” 

“No, you said potato. You know what a potato is?”

“Yeah.” 

“Then why would potato ice cream look green?” 

Judith had no response to that. 

“I still want it.” 

“We’ll get it, don’t you worry.” 

He glanced in the rear view mirror for what seemed like the millionth time. Judith’s hair was still a crazy mess but her bandaged up legs were what really caught his attention. 

Apparently she had slipped on the rough gravel of the dug-out and went knees-first into all of the small rocks. Her coach said she hadn’t cried but was rather put-out that she couldn’t practice the rest of the day. 

Rick was kind of proud of her for that. 

They pulled up outside of the ice cream parlor and he chanced a glance at Dale’s place before sliding his view to the grocery. 

Negan was probably prowling around somewhere inside. 

That that he cared, of course. 

Why would he care? 

“Papa! Let’s goooooooo.” Judith whined, yanking on his fingers as she led him in. 

There was a small line and the two of them stood idly while the girl at the front counter smiled at each customer. Rick had no idea how she did it. Constantly having to put on such an act made his face hurt. 

He couldn’t smile for that long. 

“Two pistachio ice creams please.” he ordered when they reached her. 

The smile faltered. “I’m sorry, sir. We just rang out of it.” 

Of course they did. Because nothing could be simple for Rick, could it? 

“You hear that, hun? They’re out of that kind..do you…want…” he trailed off, looking down at her face. Judith’s bottom lip was trembling and her big blue eyes were quickly filling with water. 

Oh, no. 

No no no no no. 

She was _not_ about to throw a fit about fucking pistachio ice cream in front of all of these people. “There’s plenty of other kinds, Jud. You like that cotton candy one, don’t you? You can-“

“B-B-But I wanted-“ 

He had to cut this off before it got worst. Judith’s tantrums were not to be messed with. 

“Whichever kind you want- I’ll even get you two scoops.”

He never let her get that but anything to scare off her outburst. 

It didn’t work and large dollops of tears started to roll down her rosy cheeks. 

Shit. 

He needed to take care of this, and fast. 

“What about we go next door and look for some? Huh?” he quickly suggested which made the girl behind the counter frown. 

Not that he gave a rat’s ass. 

Judith perked up at this. “You think Negan has some?” 

“We can go and ask.” 

Instantly the tears disappeared and she smiled. 

Thank God. 

Rick let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. 

They stepped out of line and made their way back to the grocery. He groaned the entire way there.

The moment the front door opened- 

“Well if it isn’t my two favorite Grimes!” Negan hollered from the back deli counter. 

Rick winced at the volume but Judith giggled and happily bounced towards her teacher. 

They were his two favorite? 

What was Carl then? 

Was it weird that he was thinking about this? 

“Heya there princess,” Negan said, bending down to her level to pinch her chubby cheek. However, the moment they were eye-to-eye he gave a quick frown. “Hey, what’s with the tears?”

“They don’t have potato ice cream next door.” 

Negan stared at her for a second before a wide grin spread on his cheeks and threw out a bark of laughter. “Potato ice cream, huh?” he looked up at Rick who shrugged and mouthed ‘pistachio’. 

“Well, Uncle Negan defiantly has potato ice cream.” he said and she brightened. 

“Really?!” 

“Of course! I have everything! Why don’t you hop down the ice cream section and go pick out your favorite.” 

“Okay!” 

The patter of her small sneakers against the titled floor blew past Rick. 

Negan rose to his full height and grinned. 

“‘See you got my present.” He nodded towards Rick’s hand which was still lightly wrapped. 

The farmer glanced down at it. “Yes, thank you for that.” 

“No problem! Anything for you.” 

What the fuck did that mean? 

“I-“ 

“Go on a date with me.” 

The request caught Rick off-guard, as it always does. 

He blinked at Negan who had a totally serious expression on his face. “No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I don’t want to.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I think you’re annoying.” 

“Why?” 

Jesus Christ! Who was he talking to, Judith? 

“The way this conversation is going would be a prime example.” 

Negan laughed again. 

“Alright, then I propose this- you go out with me and we can just talk business. Nothing else.” 

Rick narrowed his eyes slightly. “What do you mean?” 

“You know just as fucking well as I do that Dale has flown the coop for a month or so to go visit his grandchildren. Which means he’s not selling your product. My store, on the other fucking hand, is always open and could be using what you’re selling.” 

It was exactly what he had been hoping to speak with him about. 

The exchange would certainly help. 

“What’s in it for you?” 

“I get to take the hottest fuckin’ guy out for dinner, _and_ I get a business deal out of it.” 

They stared at each other for a second. 

It would be good for the farm…

And like Claire said- if he didn’t like it, then it wasn’t like he’d have to keep going out with him. 

He set his jaw, “Alright, I’ll go.” he finally said. 

The smile that greeted him made something shift down his spine. “ _Perfect_.” 

Judith came bobbing back with a cartoon of ice cream which Negan said was free of charge. They exchanged numbers and when the two Grimes went on their merry way. 

 

~~~~~

 

 

“This is fucking stupid.” 

“I agree.” 

“Then why are you doing it?” 

“Because then he’ll stop bothering us.” 

“ _Us?_ Nah uh, I don’t think so. _You_ don’t have to work with him- I do. You just mean he’ll stop bothering _you.”_

Rick sighed, turning sharply to look at Carl who was sitting on the bed. He was trying to get ready for this date…meeting… _thing_ with Negan but couldn’t figure out what to wear. He didn’t even know where they were going. 

Frustrated that he actually caring about this, Rick finally chose a light blue button-up shirt with dark jeans and his boots. 

Carl hadn’t left him alone since he had gotten home from work and found out about the deal. Negan, apparently, kept bragging about it to anyone who would listen. 

That, of course, wore on Rick’s nerves like nothing else. He didn’t want this whole Goddamn town to know his business. 

“It’s still fucking weird.” 

Rick placed his hands on his hips, “Look, it’s only once. Then it’ll never happen again. I promise.” 

Carl still eyed him. “You promise?” 

Rick nodded. 

That only seemed to sedate him for a moment. 

Suddenly a loud chirp rung from the bedside table. Rick scrubbed a hand through his hair and walked over to pick up his phone. It was a text from Negan. 

_Wear something fucking nice- N xoxo_

Rick didn’t like the sound of that. 

_How nice?- RG_

He looked back down at himself. It wasn’t like he was dressed like trash but if they were going somewhere fancy then he’d defiantly- 

_Nice fucking nice. Like suit nice- N_

Motherfucker. 

Rick Grimes happened to own just one nice suit that he wore at his brother’s wedding. It was a dark navy blue that had been tailored just for him. 

He hadn’t worn it in years. 

Muttering under his breath, he went to the closest and started to pull it out. 

“What are you doing?” Carl asked, voice tentative. 

“Changing.” 

“Why?” 

Rick threw the thing on the bed as he started to un-button his shirt. He’d need different jeans. 

“Because we’re going somewhere where I need to dress nice.” 

Carl clicked his tongue. “This is bullshit.” 

“I agree.” 

Once Rick was all changed, he heard another ring from his phone. 

_I’m ten minutes away. Better be ready- N xoxo_

What? That wasn’t the plan. They were suppose to meet. 

Rick texted him exactly that. 

_What kind of date would I be if I didn’t pick you up?- N_

A shitty date, in any case. 

Rick grumbled under his breath. 

Carl still had this weird look on his face as his father finished tying his light brown shoes. “Does this really bother you that much?” Rick asked, sitting up to tie the other shoe. 

“Yes! I mean- no.” 

Rick quirked an eyebrow. 

Carl groaned, standing quickly and throwing his hands up. “It’s just… _weird._ I don’t know! I’m not used to my dad going on dates.” 

Ah. 

_Ah._

There was the heart of the problem. 

Rick gave a small nod of understanding. “Is it dates in general…or…?” 

“Kinda? It’s just…it’s weird to think about.” 

“Do you not want me to go on dates?” 

The question hung heavy in the air. Carl slowly turned to look at his father who was perched on the edge of the bed, his features serious. 

Carl frowned. “Does that matter?” 

“It does to me.” 

Carl felt his heart clench at the statement. “I’m being honest- if you don’t want me going on dates, I won’t. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, Carl. After your mother, ah,” he cleared his throat, “well, I can understand.” 

Sadly enough though, that was too forgiving. Carl didn’t want to be the reason his dad couldn’t find love again. 

At the same time, though, he knew no one would ever live up to his standards. No one would ever be perfect enough for his dad. 

Suddenly the front bell rung and they heard Judith rush to the door. 

At least she was excited about the whole prospect. 

Carl schooled his expression back to normal.   
Rick stood and placed both hands on his shoulders, look down at him. “I’ll be back late. Look out for your sister, alright?” 

“Alright.” 

The two made their way downstairs to find Negan walking around the kitchen with Judith in his arms. He was whistling some tune to her which she obviously fond relaxing. 

His appearance threw Rick. 

Gone was the normal leather jacket and pants, and plain white shirt. Instead, Rick found his gaze flowing up the other’s entire figure. 

He was wearing a striking black suit and when he turned, Rick’s eyes instantly went to the V of his neck. He wore a crisp white button-up that had the first few buttons undone to reveal more tan skin and the beginnings of a strong collarbone and pecs. 

The raven locks that began to show some slight graying was gelled in a way that looked like it had undergone some loving from some tender hands. 

Rick wanted to run his own hands through it, just to make it perfectly messy even more. 

Negan didn’t stop staring at him. 

“Well, hot damn, Grimes. Don’t you clean up pretty?” 

Carl snorted something under his breath and Judith gasped. “Uncle Negan! You cursed! You owe me a full tub of ice cream now!” 

He laughed and it stung Rick’s heart. “I suppose I do. Tell you what, I’ll send some home with you dad. Sound like a plan?” 

“Yeah!” 

He placed her gently on the ground while Rick grabbed his jacket and keys. 

“What time are you going to be back?” Carl asked as they moved towards the front door. Negan grinned wickedly. “I promise to have him back at midnight, no later. That sound okay to you? Or do you need to give me the ‘talk’ so I don’t fuck-“ 

Rick cut him off right then and there. “Alright, I think we got it. I’ll be back late. See you then.” He pushed Negan out the front door and closed it quickly behind him. 

“Aw, don’t be such a spoil sport, Rick. I was just having a little fun.” 

A ‘little fun’ did not mean the same thing to Rick. 

Walking down the front steps, he spotted an old black car in the drive way. Upon further inspection, the closer they got, he recognized it to be a 1967 Chevy Impala. 

“You like it?” Negan asked, patting the hood as he crossed in front of it. “It’s been in the family for a long time. My two nephews had it for a little time a couple years ago, used it for some fucking stupid trip across the U.S. and got her all jacked up. Now though,” he popped open the passenger side door and motioned for Rick to climb in, “she’s back to brand new after I fixed her up.” 

Rick slid in, moving his knee out of the way before the door could slam into it. 

Inside it smelled like pine, meaning that Negan probably lived out in the woods on the other side of town. Glenn and Maggie lived out that way too, their little Sudan always smelled like this too. 

Negan ducked in, shaking the car slightly as he slammed the door close. The top of his head almost brushed the ceiling of the car. 

Rick distracted himself from that thought as he buckled himself in. The engine roared to life before settling on a predatory purr that just screamed ‘muscle car’. 

Despite their situation, Rick found himself smiling softly, leaning his knee against the door to feel the vibrations in his leg. 

Old muscle cars like these reminded him of his old man. 

Negan flipped the headlights on and then they were disappearing out into the night, away from the safety of home. 

 

~~~~~~

 

Rick was not prepared for this. 

Not. At. Fucking. All. 

He was standing in the middle of the one place he vowed he’d never return. Hell, he’d almost taken a _blood oath_ with Glenn promising never to step foot in here again. Not after _last time._

That experience had been too traumatic to even bring up again after _it_ happened. 

And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of-

“God! I fuckin’ **love** this place!” Negan gushed, dramatically punching the air to further prove his point. 

Rick turned just in time to see a kid puke over the railing of a go-cart. 

_Pennywise’s Magical Wonderland._

Rick had never hated something more in his entire life. 

“Shit, Grimes. What crawled up your ass and died?” Negan said as they moved across the road and away from the ticket booth where Negan had just purchased full-night passes. 

“Nothing.” he muttered bitterly. 

“Nothing sounds like a whole lot of fuckin’ something.” 

Christ, they were surrounded by kids. Did this man have no shame? 

“I just-“

“What,” Negan stopped facing him, “you expect us to go to some fancy restaurant? Have me fine wine and dine you?” 

If Rick was being honest, yes. 

This was a nice suit and he didn’t wear it just for kicks. Both of them stood out like sore thumbs compared to the sugar-high kids, their miserable parents, and teenaged couples on their first dates. 

Rick really hated his life in this moment. 

“You should be fuckin’ honored! This is the best damn entertainment this side of the Mississippi!” Was it? 

“I’m sure it is.” Rick drawled sarcastically as he watched another kid face-plant into the sidewalk. He didn’t even blink this time. 

“Don’t spoil this for me, Rick. Not fuckin’ now.” Negan warned, his voice suddenly not so happy. It made Rick’s stomach shift and quickly their eyes locked. 

What in the actual _hell._

“Sorry.” Rick found himself saying before he could fully think. 

_What the fuck was he apologizing for?_

Negan’s smile returned. “Apology accepted! Now,” he grabbed Rick’s wrist, “put this on so we can finally get this party started!” 

A neon green wrist band was looped around him and sealed with sticky tape before he could even protest. It was one of those kinds you couldn’t rip off with your teeth. You practically needed the ‘jaws of life’ to get it off.

Perfect. 

“Let’s fuckin’ go!” Negan yelped, grabbing Rick’s hand, and almost yanking his poor arm out of its socket. 

He stumbled for a moment before regaining his balance and following the other quickly to the nearest attraction- miniature golf. 

Seriously- _fuck Rick’s life._

 

_~~~~~_

 

“Don’t be such a sore fuckin’ loser.” 

Rick had put no effort into anything that they were doing. On purpose. Not only did he not want to be here, but they’ve yet to talk about anything ‘business’ related. 

The entire time it’s just been Negan making crude comments about something or another. Rick’s been tuning half of it out. 

They’ve just finished _another_ round of miniature golf and every time you win a game (no matter what it is) you get tickets to cash in for a prize. 

Negan has his arms full of the small colorful slips of paper. 

“I’m not a sore loser.” Rick sighed, letting his gaze wander over to the rock climbing wall on the other side of the compound. 

“You seem like it to me. Come onnnnnnn, Ricky. I know I’m amazing but-“

“You said we’d talk about the store.” Rick cut him off, stopping on the sidewalk. 

Negan stopped in front of him, smile melting into a indigent frown. 

“Why you gotta fuckin’ spoil everything? We were having a grand ol’ time!” Negan’s accent went into a horrible southern twang. 

It almost made Rick cringe. 

“Besides, you haven’t won one fuckin’ game yet. You even trying, Grimes? I swear to fuckin’ Christ you…can…be…” Negan’s voice faded into the background as Rick looked beyond him to the area farther up the hill. Cages. 

_Batting cages._

He was so ready to be done here. He wanted to get this over and done with, but trying to convince the other to uphold his end of the deal was going to be next to impossible. Unless…

“I’ll play you for it.” 

“Excuse me?” Negan arched an eyebrow. 

Rick nodded towards the batting area. “I’ll play you for it. If I win, then we have to do whatever I say.” 

“And if I win?” 

“We do whatever you want.” 

Negan’s face almost split in two with his devilish grin. “ _Anything?”_ He stressed, walking closer until their faces almost touched. Rick held his ground. 

“Anything.” He repeated. 

“You have a deal, Grimes.” Negan whispered before turning sharply on his heel. “Alright! To the cages it is! Man o’ man! I knew you had to have some balls on ya’. But challenging me to baseball? Well, that’s just plain _dumb.”_

Maybe it was, but at this point Rick was willing to do anything to get this…whatever this was, back on track. 

They found an open cage near the end of the row, back by the edge of the park. Beside them, a pack middle school-looking boys were hooting and hollering as each went up to bat. 

Negan stepped in, shouldering off his jacket and dumping it sloppily on the dark faded green bench. It was a nice jacket, it looked like it cost more than average, and Rick had to stop himself from picking it up and folding it nicely. 

He did that already for his two children, he didn’t need to babysit Negan’s stuff too. 

“Alright, Grimes, prepare to get your fuckin’ ass kicked.” Negan drawled, picking up one of the bats and going up to the batting line. 

Instantly he took on a position that alerted Rick to the fact that he might be, in fact, in deep shit. His knees were bent slightly, he rested on the balls of his feet, his elbows were pointed in a strong line that went from the tip of the bat to his wrists… Hadn’t he said something about almost being a professional player at one point? He clearly looked the part; like he instantly knew where that ball was going to go. Was- 

The crack of the bat hitting a ball startled Rick out of his inward panic and he watched as the baseball sailed over the netting that covered the back of the park. 

Home run, clearly. 

All of the boys in the cage next to them stopped, just as gob-smacked as Rick felt. 

Negan turned, swinging the bat so that it rested on the plane of his shoulders and grinned that predatory grin. “Your turn.” 

_Oh fuck._

 

_~~~~~_

 

It should come as no shock that Rick lost. Not by a whole lot, but enough to make him feel like the stupidest person on the planet. Perhaps he was. Challenging Negan to baseball was like daring Daryl to a archery match. Needless to say, it would never end well. 

“ _Shiiiiiit, Grimes._ Better fuckin’ luck next time!” Negan hooted, leaning against the chainlink fence as he laughed. Rick sighed, dumping himself down onto the bench. During the beginning of the game, he had deposited his jacket, not wanting it to get sweaty. Because, yes, he was putting actual effort into this. 

But now his crisp white under-shirt was crinkled and slightly damp and he felt like a complete mess. He ran a hand through his hair. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Ricky. It'll be okay.” Negan cooed, reaching down to pat the junction between his neck and his shoulder. An odd spot, to say the least. 

A little too close for comfort. 

Rick jerked his head up and was met with hazel eyes boring into him. Their faces were inches apart. 

_Too close._

Rick went to jerk his head back but suddenly there was a hand gripping his chin and he couldn’t. 

What the fuck? 

_What the_ **_fuck_ ** _?_

Rick’s eyes flickered over Negan’s shoulder. All of the other batting cages were empty. 

It was just the two of them. 

Double fuck. 

“I won, Grimes. Which means you have to do whatever I want.” he purred, his hold tight but not uncomfortable. 

Rick stared up at him. He _had_ agreed to that but- 

“Kiss me.” 

Rick fought against agains the grip. “What?!” 

“ ** _Don’t,_** do that Grimes.” Negan hissed, bringing them even closer. Rick stilled, unable to pull away. 

“Now fuckin’ listen. You said that if I won, we got to do whatever I _wanted._ And right now, I want to kiss you. Understand?” 

No. No not at fucking all. 

Why was Negan so insistent on this romance happening? Rick couldn’t understand. 

But while he was trying to figure that out, he found himself being brought forward and suddenly- there. 

Right there. 

_Right here_. 

**They were kissing.**

There was no magic ‘zing!’ moment like in the movies. There was no flavor to describe, like what was often depicted in books. Rick couldn’t taste the last thing he ate nor could he describe a certain taste that was solely ‘him’. 

Instead, there was warmth that he hadn’t felt in years. 

He let out a gasp between them and suddenly _teeth_ were biting into his bottom lip. Consuming. He felt the air in his lungs escape him only to be sucked in by the other. He felt the energy in his limbs give out for a moment, so totally caught off-guard. 

And Negan didn’t loosen up, he pressed forward so that he was crowding in even _more._

Rick was going to be eaten alive. 

Shit. _Shitshitshitshitshit!_

The pain shot straight through his sternum and settled at the base of his spine, making his skin prickle. If something didn’t change _right now_ then he’d be gone for. 

Rick quickly pushed the other away and wiped his mouth. “Are you insane?!” he hissed, moving to stand up. 

“Maybe! But that’s what makes me fun! Now, shut the hell up and let me kiss you again.” 

_“No!”_

Rick shot up from the bench and stumbled back, almost tripping on one of the scattered baseballs lounging around their feet. 

Blindly he reached out and grabbed the chain-linked fence for support, his eyes never leaving the other. The only thing separating them now was a flimsy piece of wood on which to sit on. 

There needed to be more space. 

“Christ, Grimes. You look like I just killed all of your children in front of you. Loosen the fuck up!” Negan gawped. 

Rick shook his head vigorously, fingers reaching up to gingerly run across his lips. They were swollen and probably red. He didn’t know, he couldn’t see himself. 

In this moment, he didn’t think he’d even want to. 

“You can’t just _kiss me.”_ He spat. 

“Why the fuck not?” 

“Because I don’t want you to!” 

Negan let out an annoyed noise, “You’re too fuckin’ up-tight.” 

Rick gritted his teeth and reached down to grab his jacket. 

“Forget about it.” he muttered under his breath before shoving open the batting cage door. 

“Hey! Where in the hell do you think you’re going?” Negan shouted after him, he could hear him scramble to set the bat back and grab his own things. 

Rick ignored him in favor of taking off across the park. 

His shirt fluttered in the now black wind and probably made quite the sight. But at this point, he could care less. 

In the distance he could heard Negan shouting his name over and over, running to catch up with him. 

He just needed to get the fuck out of here. 

When he finally busted through the front doors of the main park, back onto the main road, he started for town. He’d get a bus, take it out as far as it would go, and then walk back- 

“ ** _Rick!”_** His name was suddenly being yelled straight into his back. He turned just in time for Negan to wrap his hands around his biceps and pull him away from the curb. 

Rick instantly began to seethe. 

“ _Let go of me_.” he warned dangerously. 

“Or what? You gonna bust my teeth in?” Negan mocked, remembering back to that day in the store. 

“I’m starting to seriously consider it.” Rick said, trying to tug himself out of the hold. 

But Negan was obviously stronger, and he didn’t want to let go. 

“Did that kiss seriously fuckin’ make you that upset?” He asked, anger and confusion etching into his features. 

In the stark shadowing of the street light, he seemed much bigger. 

_Consume._

“You can’t just do that-“ 

“I won the bet.” 

“We’re not in elementary school anymore. I didn’t-“ 

“You _said,_ and I quote, “We do whatever you want.” And I wanted to kiss you.” 

“Yeah but-“ 

“You’re not keeping to your word, Rick. And you know how much I hate liars.” 

Rick felt like he was about to shake apart with how much anger was bubbling up in him. It was one thing to be insulted. But to be insulted after being forced to kiss someone was just _fucked up._

“And I hate psychopaths. So I guess we’re both shit out of luck.” 

Negan’s top lip curled into a snarl. “You’re really trying my fucking patience here.” 

“That’s not my problem.” 

“I’m warning you, Grimes-“ 

“You,” Rick snapped, leaning closer to the older man, “don’t scare me.” 

“Not yet.” 

And with that, he was grabbing the back of Rick’s head again and forcing their lips together. His blunt fingers wound themselves in Rick’s curly hair, pulling and making his neck arch. 

A jolt went over his shoulders with the sensation. He was being pressed so harshly against Negan that he thought they might start to fuse into one. He could feel the other’s firm and broad chest against his own; the way their pelvis lined up. 

The way it sparked something in him that made a fuzzy feeling cloud his thoughts. 

His treasonous body was _submitting._ And the scary thing was, it felt good. 

It felt good to be wanted this badly, Rick realized. 

In all of his previous relationships, he had always been pinning after someone else. He was the one who had to chase. He was not used to being confronted by someone who was so obviously interested. 

Realizing this made something burn and fester in him. 

When Rick was finally allowed to catch his breath, he heard Negan give a low rumbling laugh, their lips only separated by a mere centimeter. “Best damn kisser I’ve had in years.” 

Rick blinked, still lost in his headspace. 

“I…”

That only seemed to stroke Negan’s ego. “Lost for words, huh? It’s alright, Rick. You can admit it. I’ve swept you off your fuckin’ feet.” 

He kinda had, actually. But Rick was never going to say that. 

“I…” he breathed again, trying desperately to say anything. But nothing came. 

Negan leaned forward and recaptured his lips with such force that Rick was forced to stumble until his back hit the wall of a nearby building. The red brick bit into his shirt and the feeling was heightened by his poor state of sense. 

One of Negan’s thighs went in-between his legs, pressing against his groin. 

He was starting to feel like puddy.

And his body was reacting eagerly to these displays of affection. Already he could feel his cock starting to perk up with interest. Negan seemed to notice this and pushed his thigh harder against Rick. 

Before he could do anything else, he was moaning loudly into the other’s mouth. 

“ _Goddamn,_ Rick. You sound gorgeous.” Negan said before his tongue was invading his prey’s mouth, licking along his perfect white teeth and tangling with his tongue. 

How this could even slightly be attractive to Rick’s rational mind, he did not know. Obviously there was nothing rational going on. He was human after all. 

He gasped as he felt cold and calloused fingers find their way under his un-tucked white shirt. They instantly cooled his heated skin causing him to shiver. “ _It’s alright, baby._ ” Negan was mouthing against his jaw, hands splaying even further. 

Rick stared up at the inky sky, seeing the full moon shimmer in its rightful place. He was starting to get dizzy. Whether it was from lack of oxygen or something else, though, he did not know. 

“Negan…” he tried, voice sounding distant and breathy. _“Negan, please.”_

He wasn’t sure what he was pleading for. The words just flew from his mouth. 

“I’m taking care of you, Rick. Don’t worry.” 

His voice was like gravel in the farmer’s ear. Husky with apparent lust. 

“I-“ 

His breath was stolen. 

Every fiber of his being told him this wasn’t okay, that he should be pushing the other away but he did no such thing. Instead he let his neck be bitten and sucked until he was sure hickeys were going to form tomorrow. 

His hands gripped the front of Negan’s suit, not pulling him closer but certainly looking to anchor himself on the touch. 

This felt _so good._ It made an ache form in his bones. 

It felt like nothing could harm him; he was wrapped in a fog of just being with Negan. 

He wanted to stay just like this. 

_Forever maybe…_

There was a burst of laughter from the other side of the parking lot and it instantly knocked Rick back into his senses. 

Hazel eyes were almost black with lust. 

_Christ,_ what was he doing?! 

He managed to shove his hands between their two chests and push the other away. His belt had been undone at some point and that alone made him flush a darker shade of red. 

What a fucking idiot! 

Rick’s hands were shaking as he went to re-do his belt, refusing to look up. “What the hell is this about, Grimes? You can’t work me up then leave me fuckin’ blue-balled like that.” Negan said, his voice a little airy with lack of breath. 

Rick glared at him, tucking his shirt back into his pants. 

“Sorry to disappoint.” 

He went to turn when suddenly there were arms snaking around his midsection, slithering down to his crotch.

“You want this too, I can _feel it.”_ Negan whispered in his ear. “Don’t deny us, Rick.” 

The eldest Grimes whimpered at the touch. “L-Let go.” he felt his voice break. 

“I felt you submit. You wanted to be in that position as much as I wanted you to be there.”

“I don’t-“ 

“Trust me, Rick. You **do**.” 

 

~~~~~

 

Rick’s eyes snapped open. He was face-down on the bed, cheek pressed heavily against the soft material of the feather pillow beneath his head. A thin layer of sweat covered his exposed skin. His breathing was labored in the small room. 

His cock was painfully hard. 

The car ride back from the park had been tense and quiet. Only the soft melodies of the old rock station floating from the radio filled the air. 

Rick had sat on the edge of his seat, still too strung out from the heavy make-out session in the parking lot. 

Negan’s hand had been resting on his knee. 

At the door they had barely exchanged ‘good-byes’ before Rick was running inside to escape the oppressive presence that was Negan. 

It was two in the morning now, and what exactly had awoken Rick, he didn’t know. Except, his body was tightly wired. 

He needed a release. 

Finding himself grinding down onto the mattress to reveal himself was something he thought he’d never do. But, here he was. 

His hips rutted against the fabric, making a rustling noise and a soft groan escaped his lips. 

‘ _Well aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes’_

_‘Pretty little thing’_

_‘I felt you submit’_

_‘Rick…’_

Negan’s voice drifted through his head, causing him to press down harder. Those strong hands that had pushed him against the wall, held him there. Rick had never been in a position like that before. He was usually the one doing those kinds of things. 

But the feeling had been nice. _Really nice._

And it was hard to deny Negan things. 

Negan who was taller, broader, stronger, and in control. 

Rick’s hips stuttered as he found his climax washing over him in thick rolls of pleasure. His spine arched obscenely and he let out a long whine into his forearm. 

His hair hung loosely in his face. 

Had he really just gotten off thinking about Negan? 

A small voice in the back of his head started to speak up, voicing it’s growing concern. After all, he was suppose to hate the older man. But the voice was soon smothered out by the cooling and imposing voice that belonged to the object of his concern as darkness consumed Rick as he fell back into slumber. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Sorry for the long delay! Hope everyone had a good (enter whatever holiday you celebrate here) and are looking forward to the New Year. 
> 
> As per usual, your likes and especially comments really help motivate me so don't be shy!

Thomas woke up on a Sunday morning. Gasping, screaming, and clawing at the air, the doctors had to sedate him to make sure he didn’t do anything to harm himself. Rick got the call an hour afterwards, being the closest direct contact they had listed on the emergency phone numbers to call. 

Judith and Carl were both in school when it happened but he promised he’d take them to the hospital to visit the moment they had time. According to the doctor on the phone, Thomas would have some lasting damage but nothing too serious. That, of course, sounded like a load of horse-shit to Rick because how could lasting damage _not_ be serious? 

Then there was the matter of the facial reconstruction that Thomas had gone through. His cheek bones, nose, brow-bone, and chin all had to be fixed resulting in some heavy scarring on his face. 

The doctor warned Rick not to be shocked when he came to visit. Which only made him laugh inwardly as his fingers ghosted over his own scars at the base of his neck. 

There was nothing he could see now that would ever scare him. 

 

~~~~~

 

The progress on the house was moving slowly but surely. All of the counters and cabinets had been ripped out, meaning all of their dishes and dry food was scattered across the dinning room table. They hadn’t eaten there in a while. 

Thankfully the floor didn’t need any updating. The last home owners had put in smooth, dark wood which, thankfully, meant less work for Rick. 

The new counters and cabinets came into the workshop in town last week and Martian (the local handy-man) had shipped them all up in a large loading truck out to the yard beside the house. 

So far, Rick had managed to get the skeleton of the cabinets put in. 

Sawdust kicked up from the wood he was carving into outside, the hot afternoon sun beating down on his back. He had tied a piece of cloth around his mouth so he would stop inhaling all of carvings. 

The simple grey t-shirt he was wearing stuck to his skin, sweat making his hair wet. 

He felt gross but relaxed in the hard-work he was putting in. Physical labor, as awful as many made it out to be, was a sort of escape for Rick. Too much pent up energy and emotions had lead him to become antsy in his younger years as a Sheriff’s Deputy. Now, he could expel most of that by exhausting himself; working long hours to take his mind off of things. 

A beat-up old radio sat on the porch, pumping out rock music which he hummed to. 

Measuring out a board, he sliced into it, making sure all of the edges were precise so he could lay it down in the kitchen with the rest. Finally, he could start building the sides and floors of the cabinets.

However, his concentration was thrown when he heard the phone ringing inside. Sighing, he swiped the back of his hand over his forehead, wiping off some sweat and set down his tools in the dry grass. 

He stumbled over a pile of supplies by the front door before his boots clicked over the hard-wood floor and into the hallway where the phone sat. 

He quickly held it up to his ear, hoping he wasn’t too late to get the call. 

“Hello! This call will be monitored and recorded for legal purposes. You have a collect call from an inmate at _Georgia State Prison-“_ Rick slammed the phone so quickly back onto the receiver that he heard the small bell within it’s plastic casing shake. 

His knuckles were white around the body of the thing, holding on too tight. 

His breathing echoed down on the hallway. 

A beat. Then- 

It started ringing again. 

_Bastard._

He picked up the phone. “Hello! This call will be monitored-“ again, it was hung up quickly. 

Another beat. And then another. And then- 

It rang again. 

Rick gritted his teeth, staring down at the turquoise phone. 

He wasn’t going to be intimidated like this. 

Five years had passed since the incident and if that bastard thought he was going to push the Grimes around like this- then he had another thing coming. The other night, when he had called, Rick had been weak. He had been weak and taken off-guard. He didn’t have time to prepare himself and act accordingly. He didn’t have the time to steady himself. Perhaps if it had been before the move to Montana, then maybe Rick wouldn’t have picked up the phone- too much of a coward to speak. But he was different now. 

He held the phone back up. “Hello! This call be monitored and recorded for legal purposes. You have a collect call from an inmate at _Georgia State Prison._ To accept this call, please press pound. If you would like to disregard the call, please hang up.” 

Rick pressed pound. 

There was a buzzing sound on the other end, then- “ **Hello? Rick? That you?** ” 

_His_ voice came through the other end. 

_His_ voice, that had that smooth southern-drawl to it that made all of the girls in high school drop their panties for him. 

_His_ voice that had screamed bloody murder that night in Rick’s room back in Georgia. 

“What do you want, Shane?” 

“ _Shit,_ Rick. I didn’t think you’d pick up. I-“ 

“What. Do. You. Want?” Rick snapped, not having the patience for this. 

There was a long pause before his ex-partner said, “I wanted to apologize.” 

Rick’s eyes widened, fingers curling around the phone tighter. “I wanted to apologize to you, Rick, for everything that I’ve done. I didn’t get a chance to in court.” 

“I know.” 

“It’s been too many years and-“ 

“Not enough.” 

“What?” 

“It hasn’t been enough years. Not fuckin’ nearly enough.” 

Another pause before, “I know.” 

A bead of sweat rolled down Rick’s temple and he wiped it away, irritated by the feeling. “I’m so sorry for everything, please know that. What happened- it…it wasn’t me. You know that, right? I was so out of my mind-“ 

Rick’s eyes narrowed and he tasted blood in his mouth. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ say that to me, you lyin’ piece of shit.” 

“What?” Shane sounded struck dumb. 

“That was you. **_That night,_** it was you and only you, Shane. No one else.” 

“I wasn’t thinking straight-“ 

“Yes you were. Yes you were you piece of _fucking garbage_.” Rick hissed, pressing his free hand against the wall. His vision was going blurry with anger. 

“I would have never-“ 

“What? Killed the kids?” Rick barked out a laugh, “You know that’s not true.” 

There was an indignant noise on the other end. “I would have _never_ hurt Carl or Ju-“ 

“ ** _NO.”_** Rick suddenly yelled, “Don’t you dare say either of their names! You don’t deserve to even think about them.” 

More silence. “I’m sorry.” 

“I’ll tell you what, Shane.” Rick hissed, leaning in real close, “You could apologize to me for the rest of fuckin’ eternity and I’d still never forgive you. You’re going to rot in that prison and die alone and that doesn’t even come close to what you deserve.” 

“I said-“ 

“I don’t give a fuck what you said. You can shove your apologize back up your ass for all I care, Shane. You deserve so much worse.” 

And with that, he slammed the phone back down onto the receiver. 

It didn’t ring again. 

 

~~~~~~~

 

“What’s the angriest he’s ever been?” 

Carl paused, trying to think. The stack of pineapples in front of him shifted in their crate.

“There was one time but… I’m not really allowed to talk about it?” 

Negan quirked an eyebrow, turning his head from where it was leaning against the wall. “You’re not _allowed?”_ he repeated. 

“Yeah.” 

“How in the fuck does that work?” 

Carl pulled the crate out of the shipping container and stacked it by the door. “It happened during this accident a few years ago…” he shook his head, “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Negan huffed, clearly not liking the answer. 

Tough shit. 

“He get angry a lot?” 

Carl barked a laugh, “You’ve met my dad, right?” 

Negan gritted on the tooth-pick in-between his lips. “I have.” 

“Then you should know. It takes a lot for him to get angry.” 

His boss hummed in response. 

The shop was quiet as Carl heaved the new crates of fruit out to be set up. It had been busier earlier, when all of the old people in town came to shop, but now it was dead. 

“Graduation is coming up quick,” Negan continued, following Carl out, “you fuckin’ excited? I bet you are! God, what I wouldn’t give to be that young again.” 

The younger Grimes shot him a look. “So when was that? Like in the 50’s?” 

Negan stared at him for a second and Carl briefly thought that maybe he had fucked up again by insulting him. But after about a beat or so, the man leaned back and laughed, holding a hand over his stomach. “Shit, kid. I’m not that old.” 

“You’re older than dad.” 

“Yeah, but not by much.” 

“How old are you?” 

“How old is your old man?” 

“Forty-four.” 

“See? There’s only a seven year difference.” 

Carl snorted, picking up some bananas to set out, “Still old.” 

He glanced at the giant clock at the head of the store and cursed suddenly. He had totally forgotten. “Hey, Negan, I meant to ask. Would it be alright if I took off early tonight? Dad’s coming to pick me up to bring me to the hospital.” 

Negan titled his head, expression turning a bit more serious. “Why?” 

“Thomas woke up.” 

If the moon blocked out the sun to make the Earth black, all electricity went out, and no fires were started, it still wouldn’t be dark enough to describe the expression Negan’s face morphed into when Carl said that. 

The teenager visibly paled. 

Had he said something wrong? 

“What-“ 

“How long have you guys known Thomas?” Negan asked, voice oddly monotone. 

“Ah, about five years- since we moved here.” 

“And you met his family and everything?” 

“Well, no. His sister doesn’t live here and-“ 

“Friends?” 

“No, not really. He was homeless before and didn’t have a lot.” Carl frowned, “I thought dad told you that.” 

Negan ignored him in favor of leaning against the shelving, leaning closer to the Grimes. “How well do you really know Thomas?” he asked. 

Carl paused again, eyes flickering over the other.

He supposed he had a point. Aside from getting to know him over these past few years, they didn’t known anything beyond the surface. 

“When you visit,” Negan said, interrupting his thoughts, “make sure to keep an eye on your sister, alright?” 

Carl frowned more, “What-?” but before he could finish his question, Negan had turned and was walking back towards his office. “You can leave half an hour early.” he called over his shoulder. 

Carl stared after him, an odd feeling settling in his gut. 

 

~~~~~~

 

Rick hated hospitals. Maybe that was a little cliché, but it was the God’s honest truth. Hospitals were where people who were on the brink of letting their lives sizzle out went. 

Rick would know. 

The last time he had been admitted, his life was close to coming to an end. 

“Jud, stop messin’ with the balloons. You’re going to pop one.” Carl said, swatting his sister’s grabby hands away from the ‘Get Better Soon!’ balloons in his grip. 

She pouted, “Papa, Carl’s being mean.” 

Rick sighed, leaning against the front counter of reception. “No he’s not. Mind your brother.” 

She pouted more. 

The nurse waiting there handed over a couple of sheets for them to sign in on. From the looks of things, there weren’t too many other people visiting the hospital today which was just fine by Rick. Less people meant being less annoyed. 

“Right this way, sir. Room 201.” Another nurse said, leading them in the direction of Thomas’ room. The balloons Carl was holding bumped into each other as they went, filling the empty hallway with the sound. When they got to the room, the nurse stopped and turned towards Carl and his father. 

“Now, I don’t want you to get upset when you see him. He’s still heavily bandaged up. Any real excitement could hurt him so-“ 

“We’ve had this discussion before,” Rick said, cutting her off, “we’ll be fine.” 

She gave him a slightly exasperated look which he brushed off easily before opening the door for them. The slight beeping of a heart-rate monitor greeted them first and Rick’s hands started to sweat the moment he heard the noise. 

Maybe this was a bad idea… 

The body laying on the bed was hard to identify. For indeed, the most identifying parts of the person were covered in large thick bandages. Most of Thomas’ head was wrapped along with his neck and his hands. From the way he sat, Rick could tell he had some broken ribs. 

“Thomas?” Carl asked quietly, putting the balloons on a side table near the door. 

The man stirred, eyes flickering open. 

Two black eyes. 

“Tommy!” Judith chirped, bounding out from behind Rick, launching herself to the bed. Obviously she was not disturbed by the man’s status and once again Rick found himself wondering whether or not he should worry about that. 

But before she could get there, Carl’s hand was suddenly reaching out and grabbing the back of her coat, stopping her from getting to the bed. 

It surprised the two other Grimes who looked at him questionably. Carl instantly took his hand away, blinking in surprise even at himself. “I, ah…” like he didn’t understand why he did it, “just be careful, Jud. You don’t want to hurt Thomas.” he said. 

Rick side-eyed him but ignored it. For now. 

Thomas let out a long wheezing breath before the corners of his eyes crinkled, signaling he was probably smiling under his bandages. “My favorite Grimes.” he greeted, voice weak from lack of use. 

Rick smiled back, gently moving to his side. “How are you feeling?” he asked. 

There was a small tilt of his hand, “I’ve been better.” he joked. 

“Michonne taking care of you?” 

Thomas hummed, “She’s been real good to me. I’m thankful to her.” 

“Did the doctor say when you can get out of here?” 

“No, not yet. Probably be a while yet,” he coughed lightly, “still got a lot of healin’ to do.” 

His eyes drifted towards the balloons. “Those for me?” 

Carl rolled his eyes, “No, they’re for dad.” 

Rick went to correct him on his behavior but instead Thomas laughed, “I missed you too.” 

At least he hadn’t lost his sense of humor. 

There was a break in the conversation before Thomas suddenly said quietly, “I’m sorry Rick.” 

The older man’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, looking down at him. “Sorry? What do you have to be sorry for?” 

“I know you needed a lot of help on the farm and I’m not-“ 

Rick held up his hand, “I’m going to stop you right there. You have nothing to apologize for. It’s not your fault some insane person decided to attack you.” 

Thomas shifted on the bed, “I guess. But-“ 

“There’s no buts about it.” 

“Has Morgan been back to see you?” Carl asked. 

“Yeah, he was in yesterday trying to get some details taken down.” 

“So, you remember what happened?” 

Thomas hummed again, “Not a lot, if I’m being honest. I remember what happened but not who did it or anything leading up to that.” 

“You don’t remember drinking before that?” Rick asked. 

“Not at all. Doc said there will probably be some long-term brain damage which means I’ll likely never remember.” 

“Ever?” Judith asked. 

“Ever, sweet-pea.” 

She frowned, “You remember us, don’t you?” 

He was smiling again, “Of course I do. How could I ever forget you guys?” 

She smiled back. 

They spent another hour there, talking over things. Thomas’ sister was going to come over with her family next week to keep him company. He’d probably get out of ICU at that point. 

He asked about school and how baseball practice was going and joked with both of the kids that they were growing up too fast. 

Rick silently agreed with him. 

But when the hour was up, they had to sign-back out as per the hospital rules. Carl squeezed Thomas’ hand, promising to come visit later and Judith kissed his bandaged forehead when Rick lifted her up. 

Both kids were shuffling out of the room when Thomas stopped his former boss. 

“Rick?” he murmured, causing the other to stop. The kids disappeared down the hallway. 

“It was real nice of you to come see me. I mean that.” 

The older man smiled, “Of course. We’re just glad you decided to wake up.” 

“I am too…” he trailed off and Rick tilted his head slightly, prodding him to go on. “I miss the farm.” 

“You’re always welcome to-“ 

“And you.” 

“I miss you too.” 

“Not in that way.” 

Rick paused at the door. “Then in what way?” 

“Like the ‘can’t stop thinking about you’ way.” 

Rick stopped short, staring at the other, his features becoming lax with shock. 

Had something happened recently? Was there something in the water that suddenly made men profess their love to Rick? Or was he really just that blind? 

“I…” 

“I’m sorry to spring this on you right now but,” Thomas’ hands filtered nervously on the bedspread. “I’d really like if you came back and saw me again. Keep me company.” 

“Thomas, I’m not sure-“ 

“I know you don’t feel the same way but, I’d still like to be around.” 

Rick ran a hand through his hair. 

What in the hell was happening? 

“Yeah, I can do that.” he said slowly. 

Thomas made a pleased noise, “Thank you.” 

Rick nodded, numbly swinging the door back open, “Get better soon.” 

 

~~~~~

 

He finds himself regaling the conversation to Glenn the next night. 

“Damn, Rick. What’s that? The second person to confess their love to you within two months?” 

Rick groaned, resting his forehead on the slab of granite he’s been measuring out. The smooth texture cooled his sweaty forehead. 

Glenn had offered to come over and help Rick on the new kitchen. But when they found out he was next to useless with any handy-work, he resigned himself to keep the older man company. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with everyone.” 

“Is it really that big of a surprise though?” Glenn said causing Rick to look up at him. 

“What in the hell is that suppose to mean?” 

Glenn shrugged, “I mean, you’re not ugly by any stretch of the imagination. And you’re a very calm and charming person. Plus, I’m pretty sure Negan is insane and Thomas has been crushing on you even before you hired him. So…” 

Rick huffed, setting down the tape measurer. “So what you’re saying is that I attract people either because I’m sane or not interested.” 

“Exactly!” 

Rick rolled his eyes, “Perfect.” 

“It could be worse.” 

Rick gave a disbelieving laugh, “How could it be any worse?” 

“You could like one of them back.” 

**_You could like one of them back._ **

Rick stopped, staring at the other as the statement rang through his head. 

Shit. 

He hadn’t really ever thought about that; hadn’t even considered it. He’d been too busy pushing off advances to really give any thought into entertaining them. 

Of course, Negan and Thomas were horrible examples. He didn’t care for either of them. 

Really. 

Sort of. 

That kiss was Negan hadn’t been the worst thing… 

“You alright Rick?” Glenn asked, unnerved by the sudden silence. 

“Yeah,” he knocked himself out of his thoughts, “yeah. Just…mulling things over.” 

“Oh yeah?” Glenn smirked, “There something you need to tell me?” 

Rick rolled his eyes, “You wish.” 

Glenn smirked rather smugly to himself but said nothing more. 

 

 

~~~~~

 

Dale’s daughter had a son, making him a grandfather. 

He weighed 8 pounds and 3 ounces; they named him Louis. 

Dale was still visiting his family in New Mexico and called Rick to tell him he wouldn’t be back in a week like he had originally planned. He kept apologizing, knowing that whatever stock Rick was trying to sell off wasn’t going to be at his shop. But Rick assured him that he would find other ways and told him to enjoy the newest member of their family. 

He got a text minutes after the phone call ended with a picture of Louis. 

Rick stared for a couple of moments, realizing how old both of his children were actually getting. It seemed like yesterday that Judith was just a sweet bundle in his arms, resting safety knowing that her dad would protect her from anything and anyone. 

Now, everything was just so damn different. 

Rick wasn’t a huge fan of change. Indeed, he welcomed it on occasion (depending on what was changing) but he tended to be comfortable with what he knew. He was cautious that way. 

He didn’t like the unknown and uncertainty that change brought. 

 

~~~~~ 

 

 

 

That was the sixth spider he’d killed since coming down here. Most people would probably shudder at the thought of dealing with so many, but Rick didn’t mind. Spiders had never bothered him. Neither had snakes or any other popular phobias for that matter. 

Lori didn’t believe in killing them, she had forced him to bring them outside to set free. 

She wasn’t here now. 

So he killed them. 

Why exactly he had agreed to help Negan, he wasn’t entirely sure- a sentiment he found himself repeating over and over. 

Rick didn’t consider himself an easy person to sway but apparently that was a farce. The old generator down in the basement needed replacing and to make himself feel better about the situation, Rick considered it a deed done for the town. After all, if it went out again, all of their food might be ruined. 

He was doing this for Whitefish, not Negan. 

He had to keep reminding himself of that. 

Another spider tried crawling up his jeans and he swatted it away. Damn things were getting annoying at this point. 

His Carhart was discarded on the dirty floor, long forgotten after the heat became too much to bear. Rick’s hair was sticky with sweat after being down here for so many hours now. 

He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, wrench clenched in the other. His plain white T-Shirt was stuck to his lean frame. 

The current and more up-to-date generator was thrumming happily in the corner and was the only thing filling the quiet space. 

Rick had grown accustomed to hearing the noise. 

He needed a break. 

Setting down his tools, he brushed off his jeans and made his way back up the stairs to the main store. 

He needed water or something to drink- anything to try and beat off this intolerable heat. His lips were dry and his hands were clammy. The roof of his mouth was sticky, unquenchable with thirst. 

The back hallways were becoming more and more familiar with each turn. 

He’d been back here multiple times since dropping Carl off in the morning and taking Judith to school. Graduation was now only a week away. 

He wasn’t too sure how to feel about it. His eldest was _graduating_ and that seemed impossible. Wasn’t it just yesterday Carl was asking him to tie his shoe laces for him? 

_Wasn’t it?_

Carl had been applying to a bunch of different schools, something Rick was silently growing more and more stressed with. Who knew you had to go through so much shit just to get into college? Isn’t wasn’t nearly as difficult when he was that age. 

Last night they had both crowded around the laptop, submitting form after form for Montana State University- only the first choice on Carl’s long list. 

Not that Rick minded. Having both of his children go to university was an unwavering task. He didn’t care what it was for, so long as they got a degree. 

College. University. 

Rick was going to be a mess at graduation. 

Finding the back room he and Judith had spent the storm in, he went about picking out a clean glass to fill with water. 

The cupboards were cramped with random items ranging from boxes of rusty staples to cut-outs of fruit and veggies. Someone had obviously thrown most of the stuff in without half the mind to really pay attention that they needed to be thrown away. 

Negan, of course, was probably that person. 

Spotting a couple of small Coke glasses in the back of one of the shelves, Rick stood taller to reach back to grab one. His forearms pressed against some of the other trinkets instead, heard some metal and glass shift around and-

“You about done downstairs?” 

The voice startled him so bad that Rick gave a full body flinch, arms drawing back too quickly and catching a box, causing it to come tumbling out. 

Negan let out a loud curse as the cups shattered across the tiled floor. Rick felt his muscles seize up, locking down as he was taken aback by the sudden noises. His hands gripped the edge of the counter, facing Negan, his knuckles turning a deathly white. 

He felt that similar knot of panic make his throat hurt. 

Once every little piece at settled, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

“You always this jumpy? I swear, every time I see you…” Negan trailed off, walking forward, his boots crunching over the broken pieces. 

Rick felt his hands begin to ache and let go of the counter. 

“Not my fault you’re quiet.” He tried to defend himself with. 

Negan barked a laugh, “Never been accused of that before.” 

His laugh seemed to bounce off of every surface in the room. It mixed with Rick’s heated skin and licked at his rapid breath. He felt embarrassment rush in. Huffing, Rick quickly bent down and blindly reached for some of the glass. It was his fault. He needed to fix this- take care of this. He needed to show that he wasn’t some startled animal that Negan could just toy around with. He needed- 

“Hey, _wait, don’t-“_ Negan started to say but it was too late. 

Rick felt his hand cringe as glass spliced open the soft tips of his fingers. He dropped the trash in his hand and listened as it shattered into smaller pieces. 

Goddamnit. 

_Goddamnit._

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Negan cried, almost disbelievingly. His larger hand wrapped around Rick’s wrist and yanked his arm back. 

His arm felt like jelly in the other’s hold. 

“Christ almighty, Rick! You of all people should know not to pick up glass like that!” 

_He wasn’t a child._ So why was Negan treating him like one? He could take care of himself. He’s always taken care of himself. He didn’t need anyone else. He-

“We need to take care of you.” 

Rick’s eyes shot up to see the other looking down at his bleeding hand. The bright crimson stood out against his light skin. 

His fingers twitched. 

“I’m fine. I-“

“ ** _You_** need to sit down in a chair.” 

_Let met take care of you._

The sentiment echoed in the air. 

It made Rick shut his mouth. 

Carefully, he was guided over to one of the chairs at the table. “Just wait here. There should be a first aid kit in the back.” Negan said before disappearing out of the room. 

Rick held his hand up so the bleeding wouldn’t be so intense. 

He could feel his heart beating thundering in his fingers. Why was he being so erratic? Was the heat getting to him? 

Sweat rolled down the back of his neck and he shivered. 

No. 

But he was pinned under some invisible guise. 

The shattered glass shined in the overhead lights and reflected like finely pressed snow. 

Rick stared. 

His shirt still clung to his lean frame. 

It was too hot in here. 

Negan came back a few seconds later with a beat-up white first-aid box. A giant red cross blocked out the front of the cover. 

“Crazy son-of-a-bitch. Didn’t your daddy ever tell you not to pick up freshly broken glass without gloves on or anything?” He was grumbling, pulling out a chair, the feet scrapping the floor. The sound made Rick cringe. 

Negan sat close, one of his knees resting in the V of Rick’s spread legs. “Give it here.” he motioned for Rick’s hand and he gave it to him. 

Gingerly the shop owner started to clean off the fresh blood and disinfect the cuts. 

“I really startle you that bad?” He asked under his breath and Rick grimaced at him. “Yeah, you fuckin’ did.” 

Negan’s eyes flickered up to look at him. They were regal in their gaze, strong in their depth, and wholly too distracting for Rick’s liking. 

Little crow’s feet crinkled at the corners of them, a clear sign of Negan’s constant laughing and smiling. 

Rick wanted to touch them. 

_What in the hell?_

When the disinfectant was poured on he cursed and tried pulling away. “Hey, _hey!_ **Don’t** do that. I know it hurts like a bitch, but it’s better than loosing your fingers.” Negan’s grip on his wrist tightened enough that Rick couldn’t pull away. 

The feeling shot straight up to his shoulder, went slithering down his spine, a warmed a pool at the bottom of his stomach. 

He let out a little stunted breath. 

_What in the actual hell?_

Negan looked back up at him, apparently not missing the hitch in his breath. Rick was sure that his cheeks were already heated from working down in the basement, so he hoped that the blush wouldn’t be too noticeable. Although, he got the distinct feeling that not much passed by Negan. 

They locked eyes and Rick remained impossibly still. 

The grip on his wrist tightened. “Aw, Grimes,” Negan’s voice turned, he sounded betrayed. “you’re doin’ this to me on purpose, aren’t you?” 

Rick blinked. “I don’t-“

“Don’t lie to me, cowboy.” The other hissed, tugging on Rick’s arm so that their faces were closer together. “You put on this big act, tryin’ trick everyone into thinking you’re some gruff mountain man. But I see right through you.” His pearly teeth shined like the shattered glass on the floor. His minty breath wafted over Rick’s features as he was forced to look at the other. 

“You’re just a little minx. Gettin’ me all worked up- hoping I’ll do something. But I’ll do something, Rick. Trust me, I will.” 

More sweat rolled down on the back of his neck. His fingers twitched in their hold. “I don’t know what you’re talking-“ he tried to say. 

“ ** _Don’t_** lie to me, Grimes. You know I hate liars.” Negan gritted out. His grip was becoming impossibly too rough.

It didn’t hurt though. 

“You’re gettin’ all worked up by this too.” Negan motioned towards his hand. “Every time I do something like this, you go a little weak in the knees. Ain’t that the truth?” 

No. 

_No._

**_No._ **

“It’s alright. I can tell this is all very new information to you. Though why I have to be the one to point it out is beyond me,” Negan sighed, still talking like he was teaching a small child, “But you like not being in control, I can tell. You’re just a wayward son looking for someone to latch onto.”

“I’m not-“ 

“Sssh, it’s alright.” Negan held a finger against Rick’s lips. “It’s alright. You don’t have to fight it. You’ve got someone now.” 

What in the fuck was that suppose to mean?

“I’m gonna take care of you, Rick Grimes. You, and your fuckin’ cute family.”

Why?

“Because I like you Rick. Like you, like you. And I know we’ll be good together.” 

Together?

“You belong to me.” 

Rick’s breathing hitched again and suddenly everything was kinda going out of focus. The edges of Negan’s rugged face blurred together. 

_Handsome rugged face._

_Just let him take care of you._

_He’s already proven that he can._

_Just relax._

_Let go._

_Tears._

There were tears going down Rick’s face and he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t feel sad. Just horribly confused and angry and…and he didn’t know what else because this whole situation went from zero to one-hundred too fucking quick for him to keep up. 

“It’s alright.” Negan cooed, reaching up to wipe some of the water from his cheeks. “You’re alright now.” 

He paused, “You know, I haven’t had someone like you in a long time. A very fuckin’ _long_ time. Hell, I thought I’d never have someone again. But then you come strolling into my little town and wouldn’t you know it- you’re a perfect fit.” 

Rick _still_ didn’t know what this guy was rambling about. 

He still couldn’t move him arm, his own body raging war against his mind. Some animalistic instinct telling him that he just needed to listen and let Negan do whatever he wanted. 

“You’ve been driving me near mad, you know that? Walking around here like every person’s damn perfect wet dream.” Negan was saying. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you, Rick. I missed ya’. I miss you every time you walk out that front door.” 

His hand was shaking. 

“But you keep coming back to me. And that’s all I want really. You.” 

“I… I don’t understand what you’re saying.” Rick finally managed to squeeze out. 

“I’m saying that despite what you might think, you’ve been waiting for this moment. You’ve been waiting for someone like me to show up. Someone who you can trust and who can make you feel safe again.” 

That’s too much. Too close to home. How could he know all of that? A stirring rumbled deep in his chest, moving something that hadn’t moved in _years._

_Primal instinct._

_Wolves._

“I tried wooing you like everyone else. But that’s too simple, isn’t it? That’s not what you respond to. This,” he held up Rick’s hand and squeezed, “rough. Physical. That’s what you respond to. Because you aren’t fragile and you’re not going to break if I put you over my knee. But you will if you realize you don’t have to worry about everything anymore.” 

That stirring in his chest sung. It responded exactly to what Negan was saying. Rick hadn’t even been aware of this yearning but apparently it was there, hidden deep underneath everything else. 

Hidden beneath Lori’s death. 

He felt a couple more tears fall onto his lap. 

“It’s alright,” Negan said for what seemed like the millionth time. “It’s alright. You’re okay now. Just breath.” 

He bent down to continue wrapping the tips of his fingers. Rick stared ahead, having an inner melt down. Like someone had typed in the nuclear war codes that would set off a full-body reset. 

Negan had said exactly what Rick had been feeling for the last five years but had been too proud to admit. 

He was too bull-headed to admit that he needed help because raising two kids by himself was a struggle. Of course he never voiced that because, how could he? 

He was too bull-headed to admit that he craved to have someone to talk to that would just understand. Lori used to be that for him until the last couple years of their marriage, which of course lead to the incident; a trauma so tremendous that it left scars on Rick mentally and physically. 

And he needed someone to just… _take the reins._ He was so tried of making every little decision without guidance or help. Moving to Montana, becoming a farmer, enrolling Judith in baseball- everything _little thing_ was all him and it was like being pushed out into the middle of the fucking ocean without a life jacket. He was staying afloat, but for how long? 

“There we go,” Negan said finally, brushing his fingers gingerly over Rick’s now perfectly bandaged hand. “it should start feeling better soon.” 

Rick stared down at the white gazes, eyes unblinking. Hallow. Without expression- 

“You still with me, Grimes?” A pair of fingers were snapped in his face and he slowly lifted his head. 

“Damn.” Negan breathed before reaching forward, his own hand carding through Rick’s longer locks. “You are too perfect. But I might have over done it there.” 

_Right._

Rick didn’t say that. 

“You need to come back up now, Grimes. Come on back.” Negan said, fingers tightening and loosening in his sweaty hair. 

The pain and release made his breathing even out. He blinked. 

“There we go. Feel better?” 

“What in the hell did you do to me?” Rick breathed, trying to turn his head away. 

“It’s called going under. I guess I said all the right things to just make you… _let go.”_

“Going under?” Rick repeated dumbly. 

“You can Google that when you get home too.” Negan said. 

His hands were still in Rick’s hair. 

That alone jolted him into standing. 

“Let me go-“ he hissed but was cut off as Negan yanked harshly, causing him to let out a yelp. “Nu uh. No. You don’t get to do that kind of shit here, Grimes.”

He still had no idea what this man was prattling on about. 

“Listen,” Negan said, making him pay attention again, “I can tell you’re in a little over your head. I get it. It’s an emotional moment. So let’s do this- you go out with me this week and I’ll explain.” 

“Explain right-“ 

“It’s doesn’t work like that, cowboy. I need you to know me. I need you to understand the position that you’re in.” 

Rick opened his mouth to snap out an absolute ‘no way in fucking hell’. But then those eyes were upon him again and his body was acting on it’s own accord. 

Fucking _traitor._

_“Fine._ I’ll go out with you.” 

Maybe after he’d start to leave their family alone. 

Yeah, that’s what Rick was doing- doing this small favor for Negan so that he’d stop messing around.

“Perfect.” Negan’s lips spread into a large smile, showing off his teeth, and Rick felt that same stir in his chest. 

He quickly stomped it out. 

 

 

~~~~~

 

Thomas woke up with a jolt. His whole body moved instantly causing him sharp tracks of pain. He groaned, leaning his head back against the pillow behind him. His face was still mostly bandaged and he could only see partially because of it. 

It made him feel uneasy, the fact that he couldn’t totally see. 

The lights in the room were dim, letting him fall asleep easily. Outside, the sun was gone leaving darkness. 

The clock on the far wall said it was around 2 A.M. 

“Shit.” he breathed, reaching over to pump up his insulin intake. The nurses warned him about relying on it too much. Too many patients got hooked on the drug and had a hard time kicking the addiction, and since Thomas was an ex-addict (not of pain-killers) they were even more concerned about him. 

He’d been trying to hold off for that very reason, but in this moment, he had to have some relief. It was too much. 

He lightly tapped the up arrow, waited a couple of moments, before he started to feel better. 

Everything felt terrible and twisted and ugly. 

He refused to look at himself without the bandages on even though Michonne had offered it to him- to explain all of the operations that had been done. 

He knew his face was ruined beyond repair, as much as the other’s tried to assure him it wasn’t. 

But Thomas could tell. 

He shifted his jaw a little and winced when it sent an immediate headache to his skull. Okay, he wouldn’t be trying that again. 

His tongue felt dry and heavy in his mouth. 

Thomas turned towards the tray that was set close to him that usually had a cup and a pitcher of water resting on it. When he turned to reach for it, he grasped at empty air. 

The patient turned more so he could get a better look and, sure enough, everything was gone. 

**“Looking for this?”**

Thomas froze where he was. Body bent slightly in an effort to reach for water, his limbs started to tremble from the strain. 

And the horror seeping into his bones because- _he knew that voice._

He could never forget it. 

“I thought you were smart, Tommy. Really, I did. You seemed to have a better grip on everything after our last little meeting. But then you went around inviting the Grimes here and well, I just can’t have that. You know I can’t.” 

His gaze shifted from the side table towards the poorly lit door. In the frame, stood a tall dark figure. The same figure that had appeared to him that horrible night. 

“P- _Please.”_ Thomas was saying before anything else, shrinking back onto the bed. “I didn’t say anything. You know I didn’t say anything!” 

“Oh, I know. Don’t you worry about that.” Negan drawled, stepping into the light, carrying the pitcher of water. “I’ve had Morgan in my back pocket since he became the Sheriff.” 

That thought alone struck terror in Thomas’ bones.

“Negan, please. I didn’t do anything.” 

“And that’s where you’re fuckin’ wrong.” Negan sighed, setting the pitcher down none too carefully. The water sloshed inside. “I heard you had some visitors in here the other night.” 

Thomas tried swallowing but it was no use. His throat was too dry. 

“I didn’t invite them. They came by themselves.” 

“You had every opportunity to refuse to see them.” 

Thomas’ chin began to tremble, tears brimming in the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t move he was so petrified. 

“Before it was simply personal, T. You know it was.” Negan said, sitting on the edge of the bed, almost like a dotting father. “I saw how you looked at Rick and it made me fuckin’ madder than hell. And I couldn’t have that. That’s why you got bashed in the fuckin’ gob. But then I dig a little deeper and what do I find? Your record from the station.” 

Thomas squeezed his eyes shut, tears now spilling down his face. Maybe this was just some fucked up dream. Maybe Negan wasn’t there at all. 

“Two counts of rape and three counts of assault. The Grimes know about that?” The older man leaned closer, Thomas could feel his breath. “Does Rick know?” 

“No.” He muttered pitifully, still refusing to open his eyes. 

“Obviously fuckin’ not. We both know he wouldn’t let some twisted fuckin’ freak like you near his kids.” 

Thomas snapped his eyes open, “They never convicted me for it. It was a long time ago! You can’t-“ 

“ **Stop,** right fuckin’ there.” Negan hissed, voice so eerily hard that it made the hair on the back of Thomas’ neck stand up. “You’re not in the position to tell me what I can or cannot fuckin’ do. No one is.” 

“I-I-I’m sorry. I swear to God, Negan. I swear I didn’t call them here.” 

“Don’t swear to God, boy. Swear to _me.”_ Negan seethed, and Thomas felt more tears start to make the journey down his face. 

_“Please don’t kill me.”_ he whispered. 

“I’m past begging now.” 

Thomas’ eyes snapped open. 

And then- it all ended. 

 

~~~~~

 

Unreliable narrator: 

Definition: a character whose telling of the story is not completely accurate or credible due to problems with the character's mental state or maturity.

 

Going under: (see _subspace_ ) 

 

Rick wasn’t sure why he actually Googled any of the things Negan talked about. Perhaps it was some unbridled sense of curiosity, or maybe he was just stupid. Either way, he found himself looking at both words. 

Unreliable narrator was pretty simple, he could have guessed the definition before even looking it up. Though why it related to Thomas was beyond him. Was Negan trying to hint at something? 

But it was this ‘going under’ concept that really threw Rick. 

Of course there was no legit definition in a dictionary he could look at. But Google supplied him with more than enough resources to understand what the older man was getting at. 

It was a term used in the BDSM community. 

Apparently it was for when ‘subs’ became too overwhelmed just kinda… _let go._

Rick had been horrified at first. Reading about this on his computer screen almost made him shut the entire thing off, but then it kept going on about how good it was. There was even a page he clicked on that had different subs trying to explain the feeling. All of them admitted it was hard to fully describe but what they said…Rick knew that feeling. 

That moment in the break room had been much larger than what he originally thought. 

The more he read, the more he was sucked into the reading. 

The more he saw himself in all of this. 

And it unnerved the hell out of him. 

Sex for Rick had always been vanilla, nothing more. Lori wasn’t anything special, as bad as that sounded. She was a simple woman with simple wants and Rick was okay with that. He himself hadn’t ever really wanted anything more than what they had. 

So looking at all of this made his cheeks flush. 

Of course, he wasn’t surprised what Negan was into this sort of thing. He seemed like the sort of man where even his sex life was fucked up. 

The fact that he was directing those sort of thoughts towards Rick, though, didn't seem the best. He wasn’t prepared for that kind of relationship. Not in the least. 

The computer let out a little jingle as it powered down, screen flickering with the Apple logo before turning black. It left his office in darkness and stillness. 

Rick found his fingers gently reaching up to touch his lips, remembering those kisses and feelings that Negan had conjured in him. 

His stomach twisted, breathing deep and shallow. 

“Fuck.” 

He really wasn’t ready for Negan. 

But, then again, who ever was? 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's backkkkk! Sorry for such a long wait. Promise I'm still working away on this. 
> 
> As always, kudos and especially comments make zanzibar a happy writer ~

Rick didn’t take Judith to the funeral. He knew it was selfish. After all, shouldn’t he be the one teaching her about the joys and pains of life and death? 

Yet imagining her standing there in a little black dress…it churned a dark and ugly feeling inside of him. She was still too young- that’s what he told himself. 

Of course, that was a lie. 

Judith knew Thomas was dead. Having to sit her down and explain everything hadn’t been easy. The concept of death as it related to a person- a man she knew- was not a concept familiar to her. 

When a cow died or the fields didn’t grow, she knew that kind of death. But the one where a human could be so brutally ripped away was not something Rick thought he’d be explaining to her anytime soon. 

The service was quick and quiet. Not too many people showing up. Glenn, Maggie, all of them came along with Thomas’ sister and her family. 

Her name was Anne and she looked almost exactly like her brother; to the point where Rick had a hard time facing her while they spoke. It made his palms sweat. 

The news that Thomas had passed away was a shock to Rick, but honestly, he knew deep down that it shouldn’t be. The man had been in a bad way. Going through all of those surgeries and procedures? It was enough to take the fight out of anyone. 

He just didn’t think Thomas gave up that easily. 

According to the nurses, he had passed peacefully in his sleep. No pain. 

Rick was at least grateful for that. 

Morgan said he was still investigating the case, but was honestly coming up with little to no leads. The attack had happened in a dark alleyway with no cameras, no people around, at the odd hours of the morning, on the part of town where everything was closed. 

Rick didn’t envy him. 

Michonne sat next to him during the funeral. Dressed in a black suit, long dreads tied up in a hair band, she had a stony expression the entire time. 

She had been in charge of saving Thomas’ life after the attack, but he hadn’t been her responsibility afterwards. She was an Emergency Room doctor, not prolonged care, that’s what Rick kept reminding her. 

It didn’t seem to help. 

Carl cried when they lowered the casket down into the Earth. Thomas hadn’t been cremated. It was a simple long black coffin with the man’s name engraved on the side in golden script. 

Rick wasn’t sure he liked the idea of being buried whole. 

The thoughts of your body slowly rotting away, being left exposed, it was all a little dreadful. Though those thoughts had crossed his mind. After re-writing his will after Lori’s death, he gave express consent to whichever kin was left to do whatever with him. His only wish was that all of his viable organs had to be donated. 

He figured at least some people in society would benefit from his death. 

The sun wouldn’t stop shining the entire time they stood outside. Mocking in a way that these people were dressed from head to toe in black. 

Dale offered to drive Carl back home while Rick went to pick Judith up from a play date with one of her friends from school. 

In the end, it ended up being the best choice since Rick had to drive in the opposite direction. Then the pick up turned into a whole ordeal as Judith refused to leave her friend’s house, begging to sleep over. 

At that point Rick was so worn-out he agreed. 

[If you get some milk and eggs, I can cook dinner tonight] Carl texted him, right as he got back into the truck. 

His fingers itched on the wheel. 

He really didn’t feel like seeing Negan right now, but running back into town would be a bigger hassle. 

Going to the funeral had drained him, both mentally and physically. Rick felt wrung out, dead to the world. 

The last time had been at a funeral was for his wife, and that was nearly three months after her death because he had been in the hospital for so long. 

The scars at the base of his throat itched and he resisted the urge to scratch at them as he stood in the aisle, looking at the different pints of milk. 

_Damn, when had there gotten to be so many different kinds of milk?_

“Well, well! Look what the cat dragged in!” That voice that Rick knew all-too-well grated on his nerves like a stone over a cheese grater. 

He slowly looked up to see Negan leaning against one of the refrigerator doors beside him. “Earth to Rickey? You there?” He waved his hand in front of the younger man’s face. 

The farmer blinked at him before moving to open the door in front of him. “Woah, woah there.” Negan said, pressing his hand against it so that Rick couldn’t open it. 

_What in the hell was wrong now?_

“You alright there? You look like you’ve seen a Goddamn ghost or something.” 

Rick bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. 

_Fuck it._

They didn’t need milk. 

He turned to walk out of the aisle when Negan’s hand was wrapping around his arm again. “ _Rick_.” he said, voice surprisingly serious. 

The other didn’t turn around. “What do you want?” he hissed. 

“To tell me what in the hell is going on.” 

“That’s none of your Goddamn business. I-“ 

Rick’s arm was suddenly jerked back, causing him to stumble into Negan who easily caught him in his arms. “Anything dealing with you is my Goddamn fucking business.” He hissed back, eyes narrowing. 

Rick glared back up at him, his arms trapped between their chests. “Tell me what the matter is. Right. Now.” He pressed, hands flexing where they gripped Rick’s elbows. It made the muscles in his arms flinch. 

“He’s dead.” 

Negan blinked back at him. 

“Who?” 

“Thomas.” Rick’s voice was getting hoarse. 

“The farm-hand?” 

“Yeah.” 

Negan lessened his hold, “The funeral today?” 

“Yeah. I just came from it.” 

Negan didn’t say anything to that. Instead, his hazel eyes flickered over Rick’s features. 

And then- they were kissing. 

Again. 

_What was wrong with him?_

Negan pushed him until his back was pressing into the shelves behind them. Metal grating against his black suit jacket. 

He had bought it for the funeral. 

Rick’s arms were still trapped by the other, but he gripped the leather jacket harshly between his fingers. It wasn’t a nice kiss. 

Harsh and clashing, he could feel their teeth click together. 

It made everything else fade into the background. “Can’t stand seeing those fucking baby blues sad.” Negan breathed between each kiss, hot breath washing over Rick’s cheeks. 

He didn’t say anything in return. 

They pressed and pressed together until Rick had to angle his head almost completely back as Negan towered over him, body slipping further down the shelves. 

He struggled to free his arms. “ _Stop.”_ Negan commanded and he did. 

Instead, he let the other lick and bite, making the world spin. And when he finally let Rick stand straight, he pressed a hand on the base of his neck again. 

“Tonight. Here. Eleven.” Was all he said before turning and walking away. 

Rick shuddered, leaning against the glass doors. 

It was quiet in the store. 

 

~~~~~

 

Rick didn’t go like Negan had demanded. Instead, he went home, helped Carl cook dinner and then took Pineapple out to the pastures. It had been a while since he had ridden out here. A well-known fact of farming was that you wanted to check over fencing on your property to make sure everything had survived the weather. Storms, animals, and everything in between had the habit of knocking down different sections which could spell trouble for losing livestock and letting predators in. Though, if a coyote or something like it really wanted to get into the pastures, hoping one of the fences really wouldn’t be that much of a stretch. 

It had been cloudy in the later part of the evening, making the sun a subtle orange colour as it sank in the sky. 

By the time Rick was riding out to the farthest portion of their land, he could see a storm was rolling in right as it became night time.

He trotted Pineapple along the fence, keeping his eyes peeled. There were some nicks, but nothing to be concerned about. 

However, when he reached a portion near a cluster of trees, he noticed that some of the posts were leaning- wire mangled and hanging off the wood. 

One of the cows or something must have run into it. Which also could cause a problem if they had injured themselves on it. He’d have to check in the morning.

Slipping off the horse, he let the mare graze as she pleased, not scared about her taking off. She was, after all, trained to stay by his side. 

Rick pulled the toolkit he had taken out of one of the saddlebags and set it down near one of the posts, getting ready to fix it. 

A rumble in the distance made him realize how quickly that storm was coming in. He stared down at the post again, shifting on his feet. If he stayed, there was a chance he’d get caught in the storm and that wouldn’t be good for anyone. Then again, if he left it, there was a chance that it would fully tip and livestock would wander out. 

Deciding to just bite the bullet, Rick fell to his knees and started to pull out the necessary things. 

Uncoiling and taking off the old wire was easy enough, he just needed to measure out some more to replace it. 

Carefully setting the damaged bits out, he took the small spool of it he kept in the bag and set to work measuring it. 

There were more rumbles in the distance. 

Rick hated barbed wire. 

It made the scars at the base of his neck itch. 

It reminded him of how he got those scars in the first place. 

It reminded him of _that_ night when everything in their lives changed. 

Barbed wire had almost killed him. 

And yet, here he was, years later, measuring it out in the dark in a field in the middle of bum-fuck Montana. 

Rick almost started laughing. Or at least he thought it was bitter amusement bubbling up in his chest. It was hard nowadays to disguise between laughing and crying. 

 

~~~~~

 

On the way back to the house, the storm finally hit. Great rolling clouds of thunder came off the mountains. Rick flipped the collar of his jacket up to try and shield himself from the rain but it did little to help. 

With all the water, he was beginning to re-consider raising cows instead of fields of corn or something else. 

Pineapple didn’t seem to mind the weather as much and easily cantered back to the barn when he asked her to. 

The lights were dim inside, probably needing replacing soon, a job Rick loathed more than anything else. 

He slipped back off and lead the horse back in to be greeted by her siblings. Rick put the tac away, brushed her down, and put her back in the stall where she belonged. Judith had picked out some older carrots from the fridge earlier, making him promise to feed the horses when he got back. Feeling the need to comply with her demands, he dug around until he found the bag and wandered back over to start feeding them. 

The farmer zoned out for a bit, letting himself be lulled by the rain outside and the loud snaps of carrots being eaten from the palms of his hands. 

Animals, he had decided a long time ago, were better than humans. They didn’t judge. They loved unconditionally. And they were of pure-heart. 

Rick could understand animals, but humans? Not so much.

Suddenly Pineapple’s head reared back, as though startled by something, and Rick turned around just in time to see the doors to the barn swing close. 

Negan was standing there. 

Fresh rain dripped down his leather jacket onto the dusty floor. 

He had an odd look on his face. 

“What in the hell are you doing here?” Rick asked, leaning away from the stalls, bag of carrots still in his hands. 

Negan didn’t reply. 

Rick’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “You gone deaf or somethin’?” 

Still no reply. 

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Look, I don’t have-“ 

“You didn’t come.” 

Rick blinked, “What?” 

“I told you to come back to the store tonight.” 

The younger man shifted on his feet. “I know.” 

“Then why didn’t you?” Negan was inching closer. 

The horses were moving away. 

_That was probably a bad sign._

“I had things to do.” Rick lied easily. “I couldn’t just drop everything. I-“ 

Negan stopped in front of him, close enough that they could reach out and embrace each other. 

“Kneel.” 

They stared into each other’s eyes. “Excuse me?” Rick asked, taken aback. 

“You heard me.” 

“I heard you, but I don’t understand.” He shot back, anger making the muscles in his jaw work. 

“You do understand. I know you do. This whole time you’ve known. Now,” Negan reached out and gripped onto the junction where Rick’s neck met his shoulder, _“kneel.”_

He didn’t go down easily like that. 

“Why in the hell should I?” He hissed back, eyes narrowing. 

“Thought we went over this, Rick.” Negan, voice terse. 

“We didn’t go over jack. You just sprouted a bunch of nonsense at me and then-“ 

“Wasn’t a bunch of nonsense. We both know that.” Negan said. 

Rick hated it. 

He went to shrug the hand off his shoulder when Negan stepped forward again, crowding him against the panelling for the stalls. The horses inside snapped their heads back, clearly as startled as Rick felt. 

“Why you gotta be all stubborn like this, huh?” The store owner sighed as if he were talking to a disobedient child. 

_Oh, the irony._

Rick squirmed in his hold. “Don’t want what you’re putting down.” He gritted out, twisting his arms so that he could push the other away. It didn’t work. 

Instead, Negan wrapped a hand around both of his wrists and pinned them above his head, stretching him out. “I think you do what it, Rick. You’re just too scared to ask for it.” Negan’s eyes were dark. Really dark. 

Rick swallowed thickly, fingers twitching. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” He finally breathed, voice quiet. The rain pouring down outside was louder. 

“I want you to ask for it.” 

_God this was confusing. What was he supposed to be asking for?_

“I…I don’t…” he was trying to say, eyes blinking as he searched for something to look at that wasn’t the grocery store owner. Anything but him. 

“Oh, but you do.” Negan said back. “You look up what I told you? About going under?” 

Flashes of dreamy, completely relaxed, and in total bliss pictures of men and women flashed through Rick’s mind. Even though he didn’t answer out loud, Negan seemed to know just by looking at him. 

“You saw how good they felt? How much better they were? I want you to feel that same way, Rick.” Negan said, voice rough as he pressed a kiss along the other’s strong jaw-line. 

“Why?” The eldest Grimes asked, voice slow. 

“Because you deserve it.” 

_You deserve it._

Rick didn’t deserve anything nice in his life. He’d done nothing to earn it. Every fuck up in his children’s lives were directly because of him. Everything that had gone wrong back in their old home was because he wasn’t a good enough man. 

“ _Don’t_ think otherwise.” Negan pressed, hands tightening around his wrists. “You do deserve it. Haven’t met anyone else as deserving as you.” 

“Y-You can’t know that.” Rick mumbled back, knees feeling like they couldn’t hold his body up. Negan pressed against him, seeming to sense that he might slip. 

“I do know that.” 

“You don’t know me.” 

“No. Not yet. But I’m going to.” 

Their lips sealed together in a kiss was reminiscent of the first. Slow and soft, the wet sounds giving Rick a head rush. 

His breathing became shallow as he leaned his head back, angled up for Negan to press in. “Just let me take care of you. I promise I’ll take care of you.” He was saying between kisses. 

_That sounded nice. No one had ever offered that before._

It was always Rick taking care of someone else. It had been like that since he was a kid, being the older brother. 

He never wanted that role. 

There was a gentle clicked of something metal snapping open and Rick froze when he realized that Negan had undone the belt around his waist. 

He was still pinned to the stalls, chest rising visibly in the lowering dark. 

“Ssssh, just relax. Gonna take care of you- gonna make you feel nice, okay? Just relax for me darlin’.” Negan was saying, kissing away any doubt Rick was feeling at the moment. 

Humans were animals, weren’t they? 

He could remember debating about that in high school. Some said yes and some said no. Rick couldn’t remember what side he had taken. 

But this concept that animals were simpler than humans? 

Maybe that wasn’t true. 

Why? 

Because there’s no difference between the two. 

If you thought of it that way, then it would make sense why he easily gave into Negan. Wolves. Alpha and Omega. 

_Going under._

He’d read about that. 

Rick wanted to do that- he _did_ do that. 

Negan brought it out in him. 

“Good. You're doing real good, Rick.” Negan cooed, fingers grazing the other’s cheek. It made him shiver against the cold air. 

Negan’s hand moved from his cheek and back until he felt those same fingers tangle in his hair. “I’ve told you this before, but I meant it, babe. You look beautiful.” He said, grinning. 

Rick blinked back at him. 

Shouldn’t he say something? 

Normally he’d be yelling at this point. But then again, he also wouldn’t have let Negan push his jeans down. 

Nothing was making sense tonight. 

Negan’s hold on his locks tightened and loosed, like that day in the back room of the store. Pain and relief. Back and forth. 

It rocked Rick into a more relaxed state. “That’s right. Just calm down. You’re all good here. No one’s around to bother ya’. It’s just me. I’m going to look after ya’, Rick. Always will.” 

His liked the sound of that. 

Calloused fingers traced the band of his boxers, making the muscles in his abs jump. The barn air was dusty against their skin and seemed heavy with the oppressive rain drizzling outside. 

“So beautiful. Just for me.” Negan drawled before his hand dipped below and traced patterns down to Rick’s hardening cock. 

He felt really good. 

Those same fingers brushed the head and smeared pre-cum already gathering there. Rick let out a loud gasp, back arching. 

“Good boy.” Negan repeated, kissing his neck. The farmer slipped farther and farther away from the moment, a sort of cooling feeling taking hold of his mind. 

He felt as though he were wrapped in golden silk; not a care in the world. He only needed to focus on the man in front of him. 

Negan’s hand wrapped around his cock and slowly started to stroke Rick, using the natural lubrication. 

“That’s it, Rick. You're doing so good for me.” Negan was showering him with praises that only made his heart beat louder in his head. Like when you got a cut and could feel your heartbeat then, Rick felt the same. 

He gave one long sigh, body now totally limb. His breath tickling Negan’s shoulder. 

“You feel good?” He asked. 

Rick could barely move but managed a slow nod. “Need you to use your words, baby.” 

_Why? Why did words matter?_

“Feelsgood.” Rick slurred together, drunk on his feelings. 

Negan grinned like a cat getting its milk. 

Seconds later Rick felt the muscles in his stomach start to tense up. “You gonna cum for me, Rick?” Negan asked, a slight lilt in his voice. 

_“Yes.”_ Rick gasped, eyes falling shut. 

“Cum for me then. Come on, baby. Cum for me.” Negan babbled in his ear. 

Rick’s body couldn’t refuse him. Letting his mouth fall open and his eyes squeeze shut, he let out a loud moan that filled the entire barn, echoing off the rafters. Warm cum splashed against his abs and Negan’s hand. 

His chest heaved, sucking in deep lungfulls of air he hadn’t realized he was holding. His fingers uncurled from his clenched fists and his eyes blinked back open. 

He felt like he was going to faint. 

“Good boy. You did so good, babe. But you’re coming back up real quick and you need to relax.” Negan said, holding him up. “How about we get you back inside, huh?” 

The taller man bent down and Rick felt himself getting picked up. 

_He wasn’t that light- how was Negan doing that?_

Rain poured down on them as they crossed the way from the barn to the house which was oddly dark. 

“Kid’s in bed.” Negan said like he was reading minds. 

The kitchen was still a mess from where the countertops were in the process of being fitted. Pieces of equipment and tools littered the floor. 

He really needed to clean up. 

Rick’s room was dark and cold like normal. He hated sleeping in the heat, despite being from the south. 

“Here we go,” Negan said, laying him down on the bed. “You back to me yet?” 

Rick didn’t feel like responding. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” 

He smiled down at Rick before motioning at him to raise his arms. Quirking an eyebrow, Rick did as told and shivered when his shirt was pulled off. 

Negan smoothed it over his bare stomach, wiping up the evidence of what they had been doing out in the barn. 

_Christ._

_Jesus fucking Christ?_

_What had he done?!_

“Don’t go freaking out on me, Grimes.” Negan’s deep voice rumbled, folding the shirt in his hands. Obviously, he could tell by the other’s expression he was having a hard time wrapping his mind around things. 

“Don’t feel bad about it. You just wanted to feel good. No one can blame you for that.” He said with a just nod. Rick blinked back at him. 

“Always you and those fucking baby blues.” Negan sighed, running a thumb over Rick’s cheek. “Think you could make a whole fucking arm stop dead in their tracks with those eyes.” 

_Shit, if that wasn’t a compliment._

“Get some sleep. You’re super worn out and you need to look after yourself.” Negan said, standing from the bed. “I’ll shut the lights off out in the barn if you want.” 

Rick mumbled a numb thanks, still in slight shock at what had just happened. 

_That had happened, right?_

“Nighty night, sleep bug. See ya’ tomorrow.” Negan said before leaning down and kissing Rick soundly on the lips like it was the most normal thing to do. 

It wasn’t. 

Far fucking from it. 

Rick listened as the Chevy outside reared to life and scuttled down the dirt driveway. 

Humans were animals. 

Negan convinced him of that. 


End file.
